Ashes to Ashes
by Maude Gun
Summary: This is the last of the tale. There are several "in jokes" within the story. You may notice all the DM's names have a common thread... Thanks for reading.
1. Part I

I don't own these characters, I've merely appropriated them for my own dark ends. (Insert maniacal laughter here.) I would like to thank all the talented ladies of the A.F.C., and the writers at this site for their wonderful stories. Thank you J. Lane, J. Rolls and M. McCroskey. There is some brilliant writing out there. Well, you won't find any of that _here, _but I have included everything including the kitchen sink. And, I finished. Ha ;-) Thanks for all your patience, Timeless-A-Peel. I couldn't have finished without your kind assistance.

Ashes to Ashes I

" I will show you fear in a handful of dust." T.S. Eliot

'We come into this world with nothing and we leave this world with nothing," intoned the vicar. _And in between_, Steed mused, _we create a wealth of memories_. He had attended far too many funerals in his line of work and they always seemed to bring out a morbid, almost fatalistic streak that he was loathe to admit existed. It didn't do to dwell too much on death. When he thought about it, he realized had a great deal more friends and loved ones who were dead, than those who were living. No one was more alone than a spy grown old. He had believed that his mission had been important enough to sacrifice his personal life. He made a commitment and he had never once wavered. Never questioned the choices he had made. At least, not until recently. Suddenly, he questioned everything-especially himself. He found himself pondering the unthinkable-had he made the right choices for his life? Most importantly, had he made the right choices regarding the lives of others. He was beginning to feel the familiar sensation that he was falling.

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."

Steed grabbed a handful of dirt and let it trickle from his hand to the open grave below. He was among the last to leave the grave site. As he placed his bowler firmly on his head, he turned directly into the path of Mrs. Emma Peel.

"Mrs. Peel." Steed carefully raised the brim of his bowler.

"Ms. Knight," Emma said with a wry smile."Now you know, Steed, that I took back my maiden name after my divorce. If it's business, you can call me Dr. Knight. Emma, if we're friendly. Really, I think you do that just to annoy me!" Her twinkling brown eyes belied any bitterness in her words.

"Emma, then." And he smiled in spite of himself. It was amazing after so many years the effect she still had on him. She still made him catch his breath. As she looped her arm through his, she warmed him in the chill April wind.

"I'm sorry about Sean Mortimer," she said walking with Steed towards the parking lot with measured steps, "I was surprised he was to be buried here. I thought he was a Yorkshire lad."

"Well, he didn't have any family. No next of kin. I thought it was a rather picturesque place. Mother left the details to me. Certainly one place is as good as another. He was a good agent. A good friend, I wanted him near." Steed looked up to the gray sky, his eyes skimming over the tops of the trees following the flight of a seagull. He looked as forlorn as the weather. At last he broke away and met her questioning gaze.

"Mother told you I was coming?"

"Yes." Steed said simply. "Are you driving back to London? Or do you have time for lunch? You and I should talk."

"Are you buying?" Emma teased.

"But of course, my dear. Why take the long drive back on the M20 when there's a fabulous little seaside inn that does a lovely trade in mussels lightly sauteed in garlic. Or perhaps, Coquille St. Jacques for old times sake?" For a moment he regained his old grin.

"Sounds wonderful, Steed." Emma leaned against the door of her Aston Martin Series III and brushed back her auburn hair from her eyes. "Would you like me to drive?"

Steed looked over her motor car appreciatively from bonnet to boot. Really, if he had looked at a woman that way Emma would have been instantly jealous.

"I take it you like my new car? The Lotus was, to be honest, a tad small."

"A V8 Flip Tail?" Steed whistled softly. "Emma, this is quite an aggressive muscle car. I didn't know it came in powder blue."

"Special order."

"Tempting, but I'll think I'll meet you." He leaned over as he closed her door, "Do you remember The White Egret?"

"How could I forget?"

From the glassed in deck of the restaurant, Steed and Emma studied the menu and in the moments that they thought they were unobserved they studied one another. By some tacit, mutual understanding, as if they had declared a temporary truce, they talked of nothing important. Even the weather was brooding- the gray waves churned onto the shoreline with white froth. The sun was distant and cold, and only the hardy braved the beach.

There was innocuous chat about mutual acquaintances and Steed's new horse farm. Really, she'd had to suppress her laughter when he had told her the name of his farm near Wiltshire. As the waiter hovered, Steed had finally asked that he bring them a bottle of wine and leave them.

"Of course, sir. May I make a suggestion from the wine list, or do you have something special in mind?"

"Oh, I think I'll let the lady choose. You always did have impeccable taste my dear." Steed stated as he turned to Emma with laser like attention. He waited to see if she would order their favorite wine.

Emma held his changeling eyes and felt her own well up. She raised her chin." Well then, I think I'd like the 67' Pouilly Fuisse . It was a marvelous year," she said pointedly.

As the waiter left to fetch their bottle, Steed looked out past Emma, seemingly engrossed in the terns as they ran on long legs staying just ahead of the breaking waves. At last Steed spoke, "Yes. A rare and never duplicated year. Sweet on the tongue, yet fleeting with almost no afterglow." Steed immediately regretted his harsh words and reached out to cover her hand. It was then he noticed the tears welling in her eyes. "I've never been a terribly reflective man. There are certain emotions that I find it impossible to express. At least, not in the ways that you needed. I failed you in that way." He grasped her hand tighter, "but you knew I loved you. I love you, Emma." There. He'd said it. And with an intensity that she'd never seen before in him. It was too ironic, too cruel that it was seven years too late.

The returning waiter opened the bottle soundlessly before discreetly moving off.

Emma had a faint blush of high color on her cheekbones that signaled that she was very upset. "And if you'd ever said you loved me once. Or asked me to stay! I met my replacement on the stairwell! What do you do? Order them up like Chinese take away?"

Steed looked rather dangerously, angry now. A spark of anger glinted from his grey eyes and he was running a hand over his mouth in that familiar gesture of exasperation.

"You know Mother sent her! And why on earth would you suggest that Peter pick you up at my flat? How convenient he left the motor running. Nothing like a hit and run. You should have brought him up to the flat for tea stirred anti-clock wise."

Their heated exchange drew sidelong glances from the other diners too far to be within ear shot. Although they spoke in low urgent tones, Emma and Steed's body language betrayed their agitation. Steed struggled to compose himself. He could see that he had wounded her. Maybe this was a necessary surgical procedure, unpleasant, but vital to survival of their future relationship. Mother had sent her once again, her assistance needed in a rash of unexplained industrial "accidents" along the northern English shore. A job which was imminently suited to Dr. Knight's degree in microbiology. Steed needed her expertise and truthfully, when Mother suggested that they re-team for this dire assignment, Steed had admitted to himself that he secretly wanted to see her again.

"We can't relive the past Emma. Correct old wrongs. I'm a different man now. I'd like to think I would have done things differently." Steed abruptly drained his glass, poured another, and drank yet another jot. "I don't recall that you ever said you loved me," Steed said softly. "I didn't think it was my place to beg you to stay."

Oh, Steed." Emma wondered how they could have gotten to this point. Had they really wasted all those years? Was there any way to reclaim what they had meant to one another? When Emma looked at Steed's handsome face she realized that she never had the option of not loving him.

"I need your help, Emma. Great Britain, needs your help . Maybe we can forge a future together. I'm betting on a future." Steed looked at her intently. Too proud to beg.

Emma nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Steed, relieved that Emma had agreed to help, began to brief her.

Steed pulled out a map of the Kent coastline and drew two circles on the map-one of the nuclear plant at Dungeness and the other at the Eubury Fertilizer plant just off the harbour of Dover. "Here," Steed jabbed with his index finger, "is the nuclear plant sitting on a bed of ever eroding shingle. It's as shaky as an over fifty chorus girls knees. Over here, the fertilizer plant, with enough ammonium sulfate, and ammonium nitrate to be roughly equivalent to 1-2 kilotonnes of TNT. Factoring into the mix are the underwater oil pipelines that run under the English Channel. Have you ever heard of the Oppau Explosion? Or the Texas City Disaster? London has reason to believe that there may be a strike within this general area. If the Eubury Fertilizer Plant were targeted, the explosion would be felt 400 km inland and the devastation would rival Nagasaki, and all that would be if by some miracle the Dungeness Plant was not compromised. And if it were to be compromised.. Well, I can't even imagine the ramifications. I can't wrap my mind around it, much less articulate it. This is the area that Sean was investigating."

Emma, who never blinked, blinked.

Steed brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. Emma felt the familiar flush of desire well up as if summoned from the marrow of her bones. She wondered if she'd ever be immune to his charm.

"I've got to stay here. Sean Mortimer was working on something before he was killed.. I've got to put together the pieces. I don't suppose that you'd consider staying? I could use your assistance." Steed leaned eagerly over the table.

"I haven't got a thing to wear," Emma mused. She reflected back on the suitcase she had been contemplating packing. Had she actually packed her bag, Emma would have had everything she would have needed. But that would have been admitting to herself that she had entertained the notion of staying. No. If she were to stay, Emma was going to require more effort on Steed's part. He would have to convince her.

Steed lifted his eyebrow , "Really, you can pick up everything you need in town. I've never known you to need an excuse to shop. Anyway, it's all on expense. You're actually a bargain to HRM's Government. After all, you can't put a price tag on world order. Can you? It would be like old times. I can't let you go twice, now can I?

"Well, there's not much to hold me in London," Emma considered. "Let's see, the weather here is perfectly dreadful, so rooms must be in ample supply. All right, if I can find a room, I'll stay."

"Ah.. I've taken the liberty of booking us both into The White Horse Inn. Separate rooms of course," he hastily added, noticing the renewed flush to her cheeks. "Why don't you get everything you need for an extended stay? I'll have a chat with the local authorities, and I'll meet you back for dinner at, say around, 7pm." Steed rose and grasped his umbrella in his left hand.

"I'm glad you're staying," Steed said. Then, unexpectedly, bent to kiss her cheek.

Emma wondered if she wasn't courting danger twice. The diabolical masterminds did not worry her; it was the tall elegant figure now making his way back across the dining room. Emma shivered despite the warmth of the nearby fire and the thought came unbidden to her of the old wive's tale about a crow walking across her grave.

Chapter 2

Rather then explain why she had no luggage to the bellman, Emma elected to begin her necessary shopping and was back at her hotel by 530 P.M. The bellman unlocked the door and then crossed over the living room and drew the drapes exposing the thin, waning afternoon sun on the cliffs below. Well, at least Steed had gotten her a room with a view. Emma pretended to listen as the young man as he showed her the temperature controls, and bathroom. Now, the bellman stood expectantly at the door shifting his weight from foot to foot. Emma walked to the door, held out a 5-pound note, and gave the young man a disarming smile.

"By the way, you don't happen to know which room is Mr. Steed's?" She knew the effect she still had on males anywhere between the ages of 17-80. "Yes, of course", he stammered. "408, directly across the hall Mum."

"Thank you," Emma said as she closed the door. Trust Steed to make everything cozily convenient. She didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed at his presumption. She decided to give Steed the benefit of the doubt. Emma admitted to herself that it wasn't national security that kept her in this seaside town. It was Steed. He could be exasperating, even arrogant at times, undeniably stubborn. But Emma could forgive Steed of anything. Anything that is, but letting her leave. Emma mentally drifted back to Tuesday **and**her meeting with Mother.

Mother had contacted her out of the blue and invited her to tea at her earliest convenience. She had let the invitation sit for 48 hours while letting her innate curiosity battle against her cooler intellectual reason. And reason did appear to have the upper hand. That is, until the morning she had read over The Times. It was an inside blurb on page four that caught her attention. The death of a local business man found drowned in a local lake. Not earth shattering news, but the name leapt out at her :Sean Mortimer. Emma closed her eyes at the flood of memories. Sean Mortimer, the Glass House, and the intervening seven years. Emma as a point of pride had completed her Doctorate in microbiology. And even though she still left the day- to- day running of Knight Industries to her management team, she had began to assume more of a role in the company her father had built. Most importantly, she had divorced Peter Peel.

Emma had arrived for tea with Mother promptly at 4 p.m. and was whisked into the inner rabbit warrens of Whitehall. Checking in at the second security stop, Emma had the deja vu feeling of being summoned to the headmaster's study.

"Dr. Knight. How lovely to see you again. I must say you are looking extremely well." Mother beamed as he gestured towards a large wingback beside the gas log. "Now, do you want tea? China, or India? Or perhaps, something stronger? Mother peered at her, perceiving by her slight hesitation, Emma's nervousness.

"Tea. India will be fine." Emma said firmly.

Mother handed her a cup and saucer. "I believe you prefer lemon?" Mother said with a trace of a smile. He then parked his wheel chair at a right angle to herself and faced the large floor to ceiling windows. Mother paused, taking in the scenery and traffic activity far below still managing to keep Emma in his peripheral vision. He folded his hands in his lap, and turned at last to face her. "I know you're busy. I'll get straight to the point. You're aware if the recent wave of industrial and public health crises? We've had instances of a waterborne pollution that has resulted in large fish kills. An outbreak of Anthrax we just managed to contain and ultimately traced to the distribution of a commercial animal feed. And most alarming, numerous reports of barren fields had been traced back to the Eubury Fertilizer Plant."

"Yes. I've seen the reports. Very deadly. Very alarming. But hardly a matter involving the highest levels of National Security?" Emma said with a questioning frown.

"The contagion is neither accidental, nor random. For every incident, The London Times has received notice of the time and nature of the next strike. Interestingly enough, delivered via a warning on of the back of a Tarot card. We haven't worked out the meaning of the cards. We have some expert coming up from Brighton. A sister Hermione, something. Don't know where that will lead. Anyway. You saw the morning paper?"

"Yes."

Mother sipped his tea. "Sean Mortimer was working on linking the Asta Corporation to up river pollution, possibly direct, deliberate, fouling of the water way itself. The Asta Corporate was created by four unlikely companies merging. That would be the Dewar, Walker, Teacher and the Bell corporation. You're familiar with their products? They have certainly had there fair share of press in the last years. None favorable. All these mergers in the last seven years. Suddenly, you have revenue coming in and going out, from all sorts of questionable sources. Lastly, you have the acquisitions of Thistle Foods. Which from a financial standpoint, makes no sense since Thistle had been operating in the red for the last two years. Even if you're looking to do a strip off and sell off, the assets just aren't there. The bookkeeping boys are working at deconstructing the paper maze. Most ominously, there have been recent rumors of involvement in the Doomsday Group."

"The Doomsday Group? Isn't that sort of a lunatic fringe sort of thing. Surely, not a credible threat?" Mother's look belied that thought. "I don't suppose there's any chance that Sean's death could have been a simple fishing accident?" Emma said heavily, yet aware of where the conversation was leading.

"According to forensics there wasn't sufficient water in the lungs for drowning. There was no damage to the bones or hard tissues so we don't know how he was killed. Unfortunately, he had been in the water for three days . Our best guess is a blow to the back of the head. At any rate, he was most certainly dead or unconscious before he hit the water" Mother paused, "and his shoes were full of shale. In fresh water."

"And I've been summoned for what express reason?" Emma sighed.

"We could use your knowledge of microbiology. Your assistance and expertise could be invaluable. You would be retained my Her Majesty's Government as a consultant, with proper remuneration of course." Mother added hastily. "None of that cloak and dagger stuff. Just some routine inquiries, a little research and your report to be filed. You are, I believe still a visiting professor at Oxford University?"

"So, in essence, it's an indoor job with no heavy lifting," Emma said coolly.

"In a word, yes," Mother said brightly.

"Such an attractive offer. A lady could hardly refuse." Emma found herself wondering for the umpteenth time just how much the company actually knew about her. And, more importantly, whether she was still under surveillance.

"Good Then everything is settled. Of course, the Official State Secrets Act still applies. We just need a fresh signature."

"Alright."

"Good. I need you to go to Folkestone and check on the Eubury Fertilizer Plant. We prepared a cover story for you. Steed will brief you."

"Steed?" Emma hoped she didn't sound as shaky as she felt.

"Yes. Steed." Mother frowned. "Didn't I mention Steed? I'm most terribly sorry, I must be getting past it. We sent Steed down to Folkestone yesterday. Which reminds me, he should have reported in by now." He turned his head expectantly to the young female agent just entering.

"He phoned in this morning sir" Miss Brown said." There's a note on the left of your desk."

Emma walked back into the room and sat down wearily, "I don't suppose there's anything else you neglected to tell me? And Steed knows you've contacted me?" She said trying to steady her racing pulse.

"Well, of course, I dare say he's expecting you. I mentioned the possibility that you might be coming down to assist. As for further information, I expect Steed will give you a full report upon your arrival. Sean Mortimer's funeral is Wednesday. Steed will help you with accommodations"

Emma stared incredulously. "Tomorrow is Wednesday and you want me to go to Folkestone? I'll go to Sean's funeral and I'll make some general inquiries, but I am returning to London. I have no intention of staying. Any research can surely be done from here?" Emma tone sounded edgy to her own ears, and that realization notched up her irritation to anger.

"Why of course Dr. Knight. Any assistance you can provide would be invaluable. On any level. You must certainly decide what degree of involvement is too much. I'll leave the details to the two of you" Mother said cryptically. He then made an elaborate show of pulling his watch out of his waistcoat. Emma immediately thought of the March Hare, and apparently she was to be Alice. She had the uncomfortable feeling she was about to be dropped down the rabbit hole.

Chapter 3

Emma met Steed for dinner in the downstairs at 730pm. Really, it was as if they had never been apart, as if the past seven years had never occurred. She was aware he had two assistants now: Purdey and Gambit. She didn't really want to know about Tara.

She had seen the younger woman with Steed on the few social occasions when they had crossed paths. Emma and Steed had locked eyes across more drawing rooms then she cared to admit. Tara had looked to be a very possessive type. Always hanging onto Steed, as if dependent on him for the very air she breathed. But Steed wasn't so easy to tie down. Emma knew by experience that Steed needed a long lead. And he had always stayed faithful to Emma in his fashion.

Emma stretched an elegant elbow across the table. She regarded her old partner with a mixture of affection and gentle skepticism

"So tell me Steed, what were you going to do if I had gone back to London?"

Steed regarded her levelly across the brim of his raised glass. His eyes took in the long graceful curve of her neck, her perfect cameo face and the auburn hair that shone in the reflected candle light "Resign immediately and follow you back to London" he replied huskily.

"You know, I think you have changed." Emma said with a trace of a smile. "Now brief me"

"Since you insist….." Steed lined up the silverware-"We have the usual mix of perfidy from those who should know better, the usual mix of low criminal activity, and on the peripheral, the lunatic fringe. "

"Why, Steed, you've gotten cynical." Emma said.

He leaned closer "Can't we dispense with this until morning? I'll give you the official version tomorrow morning on our drive to Dungeness".

"We're driving to Dungeness tomorrow?" Emma said with more control than she felt. "Why do I have the familiar feeling I'm being manipulated . First by Mother, and now, once again, by you."

"Emma. To be perfectly honest I'm much too tired to think about anything tonight. I buried one of my oldest friends today." Steed was rubbing his forehead now in that distracted way he sometimes had. He looked more world-weary and more tired than she had ever seen him. He was still handsome, still broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. Only now he had the most charming hint of gray in his dark thick hair. Suddenly, whatever irritation she felt faded.

"Of course Steed."

"You don't have to go anywhere with me tomorrow. I wish you'd stay with me tonight. I mean…have dinner with me tonight" Steed finished abruptly.

Emma didn't remember the last time, if ever, she had seen Steed blush. It was somewhat disconcerting and somewhat charming. Truthfully, she was still intensely attracted to him physically. His close proximity -the warmth of his skin, the familiar scent of his lime soap and woodsy cologne brought back vivid memories. She knew she had never loved anyone the way she had loved Steed.

"Did Mother tell you anything?"

Emma looked inquiringly over the top of her wine glass. "Since when am I told anything?' she asked curtly.

"Ah, well, but this would have been personal. So he didn't mention that I am now seeing a psychologist?" Steed raised his eyebrows. "Twice a week like clockwork. I believe the term is- getting in touch with my feelings."

Steed looked at Emma as if to gauge her reaction.

"Is it because of your nightmares Steed?"

"Actually, it's got more to do with my waking hours. The official version is physical and mental trauma caused by my near demise. I was shot rather closer to the heart than is healthy. ' Steed leaned conspiratorially across the table-"but the rumor mill is that I attempted suicide. You know the drill, older man left for a younger, better-looking man. Of course, the powder burns on my waistcoat and the fact that I was found with the gun still clutched in my right hand, might have lent a bit of credence to the tale…"

"Are we talking about Tara? Because if we are. I have to warn you my tolerance is rather low…" Emma said dangerously.

"Well, actually, we're talking about the Chilticott. He shot me point blank range and left me bleeding on the Persian carpet. Damned impossible to get the blood out. Had to pitch it. Thank God it was a small caliber. Little 22 slug went right through me." Steed said conversationally. "He was decent enough to dial 999 for an ambulance before returning home to his wife. That would be, of course, Tara."

"So I surmised," Emma said icily. "Charming story. I can't think how it involves me."

"Yes. Well, it is a rather convoluted. Although I don't think, he meant to actually shoot me. I think he brought the gun for emphasis, and in the struggle…. Of course, Teddy's always hated me. I suppose_ now_he has reason to despise me even more."

"I seem to be missing something. Teddy Chilticott shoots you and you're worried that you're off the Christmas list? Why would you even attempt to cover up for him? The man left you for dead!"

"Only because I insisted he go. Initially, I thought it would be a rather big scandal for him to be discovered with the "smoking gun" but then as I considered the ever widening pool of blood, I began to think perhaps it wasn't really going to matter much to me either way. In which case, he needed to look after Tara. You know, she left me rather abruptly. Eight months later, she's delivered of a 7 1/2 pound baby boy. I became concerned. I went to talk to her, to be reassured that I was not the baby's father. Teddy obviously took exception. He came to my London flat to warn me to stay away from his wife."

"Obviously. And are you the baby's father?"

" I don't know. Tara said Edward is not my son. We had stopped working together and we were no longer seeing one another. She came by the flat one night to talk.....It was... I'm not proud of my behavior, Emma. She was in love with me, and I needed someone to be in love with me." Steed trailed off.

"Quite."

"Had I been the father I was prepared to marry her. She turned me down."

"Were you in love with her?"

"I was fond of her. It's possible to experience love in varying degrees. One of the reasons she wouldn't marry me was because she knew I was still in love with you. She came to see me in the hospital…." Steed got that thousand-yard stare Emma had only seen in extremely stressful situations. It made the hairs on the back on her neck prickle.

Emma watched Steed shake something off mentally and return as if from a distant place. He then continued with a forced levity. "Upshot, no pun intended, I'm completely compromised at work and working with a very inquisitive, female psychologist. Really, its humiliating describing your dreams! Sometimes I have to make up the details!"

"You haven't told anyone it was Teddy who shot you?"

"No one knows. I thought it would create more problems and questions then it would answer. I'm dealing with a little residual anger, not to mention a resultant stiffness in my left shoulder.. But I hope they'll both pass. You're the first person I've talked with about all of this."

"Meaning you haven't brought it up with the inquisitive psychologist?"

"Actually, we just finished up my childhood and are working our way through my sexual fantasies." He saw Emma's pinched expression and realized she was in no mood for levity. "I'm being facetious. We're really discussing why I let the woman I love walk out on me. I've never had the sort of complete physical passion that you and I shared. I don't know if the feelings you once had for me are dormant. I want a chance to rekindle them. I would have made a terrible husband for Tara, but I might be imminently suited for you. Tara never did take to the country. Anyway, I'm tired of the field, and I'm not sure about a desk job. My immediate plans are to finish this assignment and resign. I haven't told anyone _that _either."

Emma had imagined on some level reconciling with Steed. And while she was being honest, sleeping with him. She had never been able to imagine herself, not even in her wildest daydreams, married to him.

"I hadn't known you had any unfulfilled fantasies left. Aren't you pushing the limits, proposing to two women within the last six months." Emma said dryly.

"You know my risk taking nature. Anyway, you're perfectly safe. My therapist suggested that I take a more prudent approach to any new romance." Steed said tongue firmly in cheek.

"Would that be your physical, or mental, therapist" Emma said pointedly.

"Well, I'm all right physically. Aside from that stiffness we discussed earlier. Other than that, unimpeded full motion…" Steed smiled roguishly. 'And while we're unburdening ourselves of past sins. Why don't you tell me about Peter?"

Emma looked at Steed steely-eyed. "Just because you feel the need for confessional, doesn't mean that I feel like sharing the most intimate details of my marriage. "

"As you wish, my dear. If there's one thing I have learned through therapy, it's to express my feelings. Pent up emotions negatively effect everyone." Steed said airily. Emma hoped he was joking. If Steed were going to get to all New Age philosophical on her, it was indeed going to be a long evening. Emma sighed. Maybe she did owe Steed an explanation, perhaps she did want him to know how much she had missed him every day, every night, for the last seven years. Hadn't they been too reticent with each other in the past? Steed had talked more freely and heartfelt that he ever had previously. Maybe he deserved the same sort of honesty.

"Peter knew about us. I'd changed in the three years Peter had been missing. I wasn't able to establish the same dependency I'd had on him previously. He had trouble accepting that. You always accepted me on equal terms. I never felt anything but independent with you."

Steed leaned forward,"I hope I haven't overwhelmed you. I have this nagging fear that you're going to bolt back to London if I let you out of my sight."

"I thought you knew it takes a lot to overwhelm me."

"Actually, it's a trait that I was counting on."

They smiled companionably at one another and finished the meal in an easy silence. When it was too late to postpone it any longer, Steed settled up the bill. They made arrangements in the lift to meet for breakfast at 8am. Steed paused and his hand brushed hers as he took her key and unlocked the door. Emma glanced questionably at Steed as he pressed the key back into her palm. He leaned in to kiss her. If the kiss haven't caught her unawares, her own enthusiastic response had. There was a brief struggle and Emma was barely able to muster the strength of will to step back.

"Since we had such an early call tomorrow, perhaps it would be better if we called it a night?" Emma said somewhat tersely.

His grey eyes regarded her somewhat carefully. "As you wish my dear. Sleep well, Emma." He abruptly dropped his hand from her waist. "I think I'll have a nightcap before turning in."

Steed turned back towards the lift and Emma watched him go, perplexed, kicking herself mentally as she watched the doors close. She acknowledged the undercurrent of physical attraction that ran between them as an almost palpable electrical current. She had seen the same raw, aching hunger in Steed's eyes. Steed had been at his most attentive, his most charming all evening, and now, at the time they should have been retiring together, Emma had rebuffed him in a not too subtle manner. Which would be fine if that was indeed the way she felt, but the simple fact was that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. It was sheer pride and childish petulance on her part that was now keeping them apart.

Steed had the most inexplicable look on his face as the lift doors had glided shut. It was an expression that Emma couldn't quite define: it wasn't regret, or anger, or his familiar studied air of detached amusement rather, it was a look of utter melancholy.

When she entered her room, the message light was flashing. Emma called down to the main desk and was given an urgent message with a London exchange number and unfamiliar name. Ms. Brown answered on the second ring and immediately asked for Steed. Upon being advised that Steed was not in and pointedly advised by Emma that Mr. Steed was checked in to room 408, and not 410 as dialed, Ms. Brown paused before replying that they had already tried Steed's room and were hoping that she might have some idea of his whereabouts. Emma got a perverse sense of satisfaction from informing Ms Brown that she believed Steed was currently in the hotel lobby bar. Ms. Brown paused before inquiring in a reasonable tone whether Emma would mind getting him up as soon as possible? Emma took a deep breath before reflecting that her life was beginning to resemble a very bad Benny Hill skit. No, of course she didn't mind. She would have Mr. Steed return the phone call ASAP.

When Emma reached the entrance to the bar, she hesitated as she recognized the blonde barmaid, now seated directly across from Steed, seemingly entranced and hanging on his every word. Steed had one empty glass in front of him and was now working on the second. The blonde looked disconcerted as Emma stood over them with folded arms.

"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but you have an urgent business call."

The blonde stood and smiled non-competitively at Emma as she made a hasty retreat.

"Men. I leave you alone for 20 minutes and you've already picked up another woman. And to _think _that you proposed! Admittedly, it was a pretty weak proposal, but a proposal none nevertheless." Emma said mournfully.

Steed gave her a look of annoyance. "Why, I didn't know, you cared my dear." He drained the remains of his brandy and left a handful of bills on the bar.

On the lift, Steed patiently watched the floor indicator lights. "You do know she invited herself over, it would have been ungallant to be rude. " Steed said without looking at Emma.

"That's what worries me. Your accommodating nature. " Emma said drily.

"Well, I'm encouraged that you're so obviously jealous." He turned to her with a trace of a smile, "I've offered you an exclusive contract, if you choose not to exercise your option…. "

"Steed, you flatter yourself. I'm not jealous. I'm amused."

"You don't look very amused. As a matter of fact, you look positively peeved."

As they exited the lift Steed and walked Emma to her door. "You don't mind if I use your phone, do you? You'll need to listen as well."

Steed seated himself in the club chair by the window. He quickly rang back to Ms. Brown and listened intently punctuating the conversation periodically by a series of hmm's before finishing by promising to ring through his report in the next 24 hours.

"That was interesting. Things are apparently hotting up in London. " Steed looked thoughtful. "They received a new threat at the Times this evening."

"Any further information?"

Steed nodded his head. "The definite target is the Eubury Fertilizer Plant. The Times received a warning tarot card with a new time line. A date on the back of the Downed Tower. Two weeks before D-Day."

"What I need is a very large brandy," Steed said drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair."

"Haven't you had enough to drink already?"

"Apparently not. I'm still disgustingly sober." Steed said without a shade of humor.

Emma wordlessly poured two brandies from the bottle on the mini -bar. After handing one glass to Steed, she sat directly across from him and waited. He had loosed his tie and looked as if he had taken up permanent residence. He looked so comfortably ensconced in the wing chair and memory was such a fluid transposition of past images, that she felt it hard to remember how many intervening years had separated them. The lateness of the hour, the blood warming effect of the brandy, the comforting narcotic of his presence all conspired to lull her senses. But Steed's recent declarations of love had only served to irritate her. The memories of past occasions when she was desperate to hear the longed for, never uttered, phrase made the present circumstances painful. The reality in which Steed was possibly a father to a child that wasn't hers was also intolerable. She was still in love with him but wasn't sure that she could make the sacrifices necessary to successfully integrate her life with his. Maybe it was impossible. It was intoxicating, yet overwhelming to want, to need someone so much. The realization that she was deeply conflicted in her feelings towards Steed led her to regard him with a heightened sense of wariness. The word ambivalent sprang to mind, which Emma knew meant to be not blase about a situation but to be instead torn asunder by indecision.

"You needn't look that way at me Emma. I haven't any intention of trying to seduce you. I'm going to finish my drink like a good chap and go quietly off to bed, " Steed said sardonically. "I suppose you'll let me know when we've both suffered enough?"

"You presume too much Steed. You always have," Emma said simply. "As hard as it is for you to believe, my thoughts don't center around you. If you're waiting for me to come to some sort of realization of how we're some sort of star crossed soul mates, then the numerous brandies you've downed have gone to your head. You drink too much. You may have an illegitimate child, but on the plus side while that may be considered excessive in polite society, I feel you've been exceedingly lucky as you've apparently done half of London, and the surrounding country-side. I give you full marks, not just for sheer longevity, but for well and truly applying yourself." Emma finished scathingly.

Steed looked at her with his mouth agape, shocked at her bitterness. When Steed finally collected his wits, he became icily infuriated. "How dare you throw that back in my face. You've always castigated me for not always being completely forthcoming about all the details of my private life."

"You might have thought of keeping your trousers zipped! I really have no intention of ever becoming involved with you ever again on any sort of intimate level. You're simply incapable of monogamy. I'm not prepared to allow you to bed any woman who happens to catch your eye while I wait patiently for your inevitable return. There's nothing sadder than an aged roue."

"And you're basing this on what sort of evidence? I fended Tara off as long as a man can be reasonably expected to. Long after you'd left. Or, is this about the barmaid? Right. I've moved heaven and earth to get you down here. And now, with what up till this point has been a fairly wonderful evening, I'm going to have it off with the barmaid because you're not willing to sleep with me on our first evening together? After being completely celibate for the last eight months? Well, that makes about as much sense as all the other accusations you've tossed at me. Believe it or not, I've matured quite a bit in the last seven years. It's a pity I can't say the same for you. I'd forgotten how lethally sarcastic you can be. Poor Peter. I don't imagine he knew what hit him. But I've always been curious about one point: did you ever leave scratch marks on his back the way you did on mine?"

Emma was on her feet before she realized what she was going to do. The resounding slap she delivered to Steed surprised both of them.

Steed recovered first and had the audacity to smile derisively at her "I think you've wanted to do that for quite awhile. Tell me Emma, was it good for you?"

Emma moved to slap him again, but this time, Steed grasped her wrist firmly "Even a gentleman is not required to stand still while a women slaps him twice."

Emma then slapped him with her free left hand. Steed was angrier at her than she had ever seen him, he grasped both Emma's arms tightly. "I do hope you're not going to kick me now. Let's try to preserve what little dignity the two of us have left."

Emma then did the worst thing possible. She began to cry. Steed, momentarily stunned, his anger completely defused, pulled Emma tightly to his chest. He murmured soft words as he stoked her hair. Emma struggled for several moments to free herself before relaxing totally against his broad chest.

"I'm so sorry, Emma. I'm so sorry."

Emma wept as if the pent up disappointments and heartbreak of the last seven years could no longer be held back. Steed sat and held Emma on his lap attempting to sooth her while she curled against his shoulder . Slowly, he began to kiss her hair lightly. Quieting her with the warmth and familiar comfort of his body. Finally, she fell slept in his arms and he carried her to bed, tucking her beneath the covers.

Emma woke in the middle of the night disoriented with a profound feeling of unease and distress. It was a moment before she could recall exactly where she was and why she felt so unhappy. Almost simultaneously, she became aware of a presence. She was shocked to see Steed slumped in the chair beside the bed.. She immediately felt more secure, more at peace than she had in months.

"Are you sleeping?"

"No," Steed answered wearily.

"You're still here."

"Ummm." Steed regarded Emma with a touch of wary amusement.

" I want to apologize for losing control so completely."

"I'd almost forgotten what a frightful temper you have. Reminds me of the time we stopped for dinner at that little French Bistro. You accused me of flirting with the girl at the next table. I was sure you were going to create an international incident!"

Emma gave him a baleful look.

"But you made it up to me most charmingly later. " Steed leaned forward and trailed his index finger along the side of her face.

"Maybe I don't want to make it up to you. Perhaps I'm content to maintain the status quo."

"I'm quite willing to admit mea culpa. I'm quite willing to do anything you want," Steed said suggestively.

"Don't you think its time you went back to your own room?"

"Really, Emma, are you throwing me out?" Steed moved with astonishing speed to an upright position. He grasped his suit jacket off the end of the bed and shrugged his shoulders to fit ." You're the only woman to have thrown me out twice in one night. I doubt my pride will ever be repaired," Steed said petulantly as he closed the door."

"Goodnight, Steed. I love it when you're melodramatic." Emma smiled for the first time

in hours.

Chapter 4

During the night the wind had shifted bringing the promise of sunshine and warmer temperatures. By the time Emma had showered, Steed had arrived with room service. He looked disgustingly well rested as if he hadn't a care in the world .But last night's scene had certainly given lie to that assumption. He was troubled and that was uncharacteristic. What she'd always found so refreshing about Steed was his basic decent simplicity and his unreflecting honesty. Not that Steed didn't have his depths. Emma had a theory that most people were like onions, they peeled away in paper- thin layers. It was just that Steed had fewer angles than most. Which didn't mean Steed didn't have secrets. He had more than most. She supposed that some of them were rather dark. But they didn't affect his true nature. He was bright, sunny, and took a genuine child-like joy in the simplest pleasures. Yet, she still couldn't reconcile herself to the image of Steed as country squire. True, she had gotten out of the firm with no residual craving for the adrenaline rush. But Steed's motivations were another matter entirely. Unless he was indeed, very much changed, she too would have to classify him as "high risk" husband material. Perhaps Steed's therapist was right- he had "proceed with caution" all over him.

Steed was quiet during breakfast, perhaps to counter his extreme loquaciousness of the previous evening. He drank black coffee and eyed her surreptitiously. Emma found herself tying the hotel bathrobe more tightly then was actually required. Whether that was for his benefit or hers, she didn't like to ponder.

"Steed, I want to apologize to you again for last night. I don't know what came over me." Emma trailed off.

"There's no need to apologize. I provoked you and I'm sorry. We have a certain amount of emotional baggage. I was afraid to leave you last night. I thought you'd go back to London."

"No. I'd never leave without telling you." Emma said directly. "But I was curious about several points you raised last night. You said you'd moved heaven and earth to get me here. What did you mean by that?"

Steed took in a heavy breath. "My psychologist is Ministry appointed. You know I've never exactly followed the rules. I suppose I've made them nervous lately with my supposed 'instability' . What they want is to monitor my state of mind, perhaps add some balance with the right partner…. "

"I'm not following Steed."

"The Ministry wants me to settle down and take a desk job. For that, I need the perfect partner. The perfect life partner. I'm being groomed to run the London Bureau."

"This whole plot is an invention to reunite the two of us?" Emma said incredulously.

"No, the plot is real enough. But yes, events have been handled."

"I can't believe you would allow yourself to be manipulated like this."

"Actually, it's a case of from my lips, if not to God's ear, then most certainly to Mother's. Maybe it's time I'm controlling the game."

"So, you and Mother in some Machiavellian plot twist, conspire at cross purposes to reunite the two of us on a new case. And your marriage proposal? A career move for you? I don't suppose you thought of just calling and asking for an old-fashioned date? It would have been far less trouble."

"Yes. But I thought this would be much more fun." Steed smiled wryly. Sensing that he had gone too far, Steed began again,"I have to finish off my assignment. I owe that much to Sean. I'm not going to end my career in a maelstrom of innuendo and personal failure. And, not to put too fine an edge on it, I need you. "

" It just seems so Big Brotherish. Steed, how much does the Ministry continue to monitor me? How much of my life is Ministry knowledge?"

"Just precursory surveillance. They want to make sure you haven't cozied up to any of the opposition. Very low level." Steed said reassuringly.

"Quite. You make it sound like acceptable levels of radiation," Emma said with distaste. " I can't help thinking that you haven't told me everything. I don't think I could handle any further secrets."

"I've told you everything Emma. I don't think I've left anything out."

"I suppose you've thought everything through," Emma said helplessly.

Steed held her eyes without wavering. "I've thought of nothing else. I've had lots of time to think. I guess the simple question is, are you going to go… or stay?"

Emma knew she didn't really have a choice. She was here and she couldn't walk away twice.

"I'm staying. For the time being anyway."

Steed looked at her then made a calculated shift in the conversation." Now, that briefing you requested.. Purdey and Gambit are in London doing surveillance on the Doomsday Group, a loose collective of religious fanatics whose view is the world will end by fire and pestilence. The bulk of the membership seems to consist of the usual unfortunate individuals no longer taking their medication. Then, beginning last year, they began to exert a political influence within the conservative party. Suddenly, they appear to be generously funded and with a well defined political objective. We've had four instances of industrial terrorism within the last six months. All indications point back to the Doomsday Group. But the intriguing element is the four industrialists: Lelwelyn Bell, Jack Walker, George Dewar, and Charles Teacher. We've code named them the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. All are managing directors of large corporations. But its their firms that are so interesting: fertilizer, herbicides, and cutting edge pharmaceutical production and research. The only thing they're religious about is money. They're like pigs in a trough. Most alarming is the four merge to complete a hostile takeover of Thistle. What do companies like that want with the accession of a company that produces cereal bars and herbal teas?"

"Weren't they all at Cambridge together?"

"Yes. But all of them had been sent down for some infraction or another. Scurrilous rumours, squelched lawsuits and nasty insinuations surround the collective like a bad aura. They're all ruthless. I served in the same unit as Lelwelyn Bell; he was posted to Leningrad just before the end of the war. He was a very ruthless, unpleasant sort. He was one of the few people I can recall that actually made my flesh creep. You know the prickle at the base of your neck? The last communication from Sean suggested that there had been some sort of contamination at the Thistle Breakfast Plant that had been hushed up. Once these pollutants get into the food and water supply, we won't be able to stop the devastation. Not only does the Thistle Corporation have access to the waterways, but they're ideally suited for export over to Europe."

Steed stood and looked at his watch -"We have an appointment at 11am at Thistle. We're going to have a fishing expedition in the files. If nothing else, it should send the alarm bells ringing all the way back to London. I'm going down for the paper, why don't you nip across to my room when you've finished dressing. Unless, of course, you require my assistance?" Steed lifted both eyebrows inquiringly.

"You're _too kind_. I'll almost sure I can manage on my own"

"Yes, you can. Sometimes too well." Steed said in a tone that sounded mildly reproachful.

Later, as Steed walked Emma out of the front hotel lobby she was amazed to be ushered towards the passenger side of a Range Rover.

"What! No Bentley?" Emma said in consternation.

"Would you believe one of my oldest friends, blew up the old girl?"

"If that old friend were a woman, I can almost imagine it. I'm sorry. I know you loved that car. You couldn't find another?"

" Unfortunately, there are some things which are irreplaceable, and some things which are beyond mending. And no, it wasn't a woman. Thank God, I haven't had a break up that venomous," Steed said simply and without irony.

"I'm almost afraid of your next surprise. Would you mind if I drive?" Emma said balking suddenly at relinquishing further control to Steed.

"Of course not my dear," said Steed frowning slightly. "I'll navigate and you be sure to whip around the curves at double the posted speed. If we're terribly lucky maybe we won't have to worry about the Doomsday Countdown. Some unfortunate lorry driver will relieve us of our stress and cares. I can only hope it'll be a Guinness truck...."

Emma finished the line with Steed, "Mother always said that I'd die of drink."

"Heard that one have you?" Steed smiled as he noticed the flash emanating from Emma's brown eyes. "You drive, I've never minded a woman taking the reins, so to speak," Steed finished hurriedly.

"Quite. I remember your jokes, I'd just forgotten how annoying you could be." They walked to Emma's Aston and it took all of Emma's considerable self control to avoid peeling away from the kerb with a squeal of tires on asphalt. It took another 20 minutes of driving with breath taking vistas in the open air, before she felt her irritation fade. And to think that last night she would have made love with him with the proper amount of encouragement, but Steed certainly hadn't pressed his case. Emma inwardly winced at how vulnerable she was to him.

In between concentrating on keeping the Aston hugged to the coastline, Emma glanced over from time to time just to reassure herself of Steed's discomfort. He seemed to feel her every glance and looked questioningly at her. "Do you have any questions about the briefing?"

"Is there any idea of the time frame in which the strike is to be made?"

Steed shook his head. "Nothing other than what the note said. An educated guess is a two to three weeks. The note was cryptic at best. Anyway, it's a beautiful day for a drive. A lovely, blue cloudless sky and such perfect company." Steed looked at Emma with a bemused Cheshire smile.

The Ministry red card was an invaluable aid in allowing access to all sorts of private places, but Steed's absolute favorite pass was the one that stated Inland Revenue. It made everyone inordinately nervous. Suddenly, they were admitted to the most secret workings of the ASTA Corporation. Gordon Whiting's secretary cast a disinterested eye on the two of them as they began wading through the extensive files.

"Refresh my memory, Steed. Exactly what are we looking for?"

"Won't know till we find it."

"You're not encouraging me. "

"Acquisition proposals. You have a Thistle, a well-established corporation that's traditionally been food stuff oriented, suddenly acquired by agricultural and chemical concerns. The fields are just too disparate. Coupled with the strange political alliances- unusual doings indeed."

After searching through the files alphabetically for an hour Emma had begun to wonder about the filing system. Everything was filed in the wrong place. Either someone had jumbled the files, or someone had no clue what they were doing.

"It's a lot of paperwork. I don't suppose you thought to ask them to produce the files? Sometimes the simple approach works best. Why don't you ask her?" Emma indicated the secretary with a toss of her head. Emma then turned her back to the two of them and continued to busy herself among the papers.

"You're Susan Wells." Steed fixed her with his most ingratiating smile. "I'm John Steed, from the Inland Revenue. My colleague and I were wondering if you could help us locate the files pertaining to the recent takeover of Thistle Foods by ASTA?"

The secretary looked at Steed as if he were daft,"Yes, of course. They're filed under P for Pet Projects."

Steed and Emma exchanged puzzled glances. It was Emma that spoke first,"Pet Projects. Yes, I can't think why it didn't occur to us."

"Look, when you two finish up. Could you please replace the files and straighten up after yourselves? I've got a lunch date."

Steed and Emma managed to suppress their laughter till she had safely rounded up her purse and left the room.

"Oh, God. Pet Projects. Well, the staff certainly hasn't been hired for their expertise, " Emma said dabbing at her eyes.

"Nor, apparently for their customer friendly ways," Steed said locking the files into his briefcase."

"What's next?"

" I was thinking of a leisurely lunch. A delicious cold shrimp salad washed down by a crisp white, and followed by a daylight reconnaissance of the Eubury Plant. And of course, not too much wine, since you have a job interview with , head of development for the Eubury Plant. Of course, if you did indeed show up tipsy it very well could be a brilliant stroke of characterization!"

"A job interview?"

"Yes. Since losing Mortimer in that unfortunate fishing accident, Eubury is short one chemist."

"I'm sure you've jiggled my resume." Emma fixed Steed with a flat stare.

"But of course Dr. Knight. We've made you imminently corruptible. First there was that scandal with the undergraduate, and then the rumors about the unaccredited research assistant with the pilfered Doctorate notes. Oh, yes, and the unpaid gambling debts…" Steed trailed off as they exited the building.

"Oh God. I should have _my _head examined. Look, Steed, your personal life and career maybe in tatters, but I have a professional reputation and a life I made for myself to maintain."

Emma's vehemence had fleetness of foot had momentarily caught Steed unawares, but he quickly recovered and caught her at the wheel of the Aston. He reached easily past her and switched off the ignition.

"You're here because you care. Both about the state of British Security _and _public safety. And you care about me-" Steed said softly. He bent and kissed her mouth. "God, I love you Emma. Why does it always have to be so difficult?"

"Because you're impossible. Have you ever thought of leveling with me? Asking for my imput? No. You manipulate and rely on subterfuge. The direct approach uses far less energy and is often more productive!"

"I was very direct with you last night. And, as I recall, we each ended up sleeping alone."

"I can't say I was impressed with your perseverance."

"You are hard to get."

Steed kissed her softly at first then gently began to suck at her lower lip. When Emma gave into the delicate pressure and parted her lips, Steed traced his tongue gently along the inside of Emma's mouth. He flicked his tongue against hers, alternately nibbling her lower lip and sucking her tongue into his mouth. Emma felt the familiar jolt of desire that began in the pit of her stomach and quickly moved. Steed gave a low groan and moved from her lips to nuzzle her neck.

"Oh God, Emma. I've got the most appalling cramp in my thigh…" Steed murmured into her ear.

"You really do say the most romantic things Steed. I suppose you'll want me to work that out for you later?" Emma said with mock breathlessness.

Steed straightened up kneading his upper thigh. "One can only hope my dear." Steed said with a flash of a grin.

"I'm more then tempted to strand you." Emma said as Steed opened the door of the Aston and eased his frame into the seat beside her.

"Hmmm. Why don't we go back to St. Margarets. Steed took Emma's hand and kissed it. "We've got three hours to kill. Do you remember how we used to make love for hours? " Steed looked at her hopefully.

"Lovely. And what about my reputation? Checking in for an afternoon quickie. Steed, it's simply not done."

"Would I be so dissolute with your reputation? I know of a seaside cottage. It's a white washed charmer above a secluded cove. It has a lovely terraced garden. The Cliffs of St. Margaret. Looks like a postcard. After all, you'll need somewhere to live and the proximity to work is ideal. It's fifteen minutes from here."

Emma regarded him with a half smile. "Umm. It sounds as if you're selling real estate. The Cliffs of St Margaret? Isn't that on the way to Margate? How quaint. That's what I love most about you, Steed. You're a man of uncommon foresight and planning. That is, when you're not being presumptuous and devious. Of course, you're supposing that I'll actually be hired."

"I'm counting on it."

"I'm still not sleeping with you."

Steed sighed heavily.

Emma followed Steed's directions and arrived at the side lane which signaled the turn off and parked at the rear of the cottage. It really was a marvelous piece of real estate with steep cliffs that gave way to an incredibly open vista of blue sky and green sea. Emma smelled the sweet newly greening grass and the touch of salt that braced the air. She inhaled deeply, enraptured by the view and the warm sunlight on her back and felt freer then she had in months.

"I love it Steed," Emma said her brown eyes dancing.

"I thought you would. There's a key around here somewhere. The landscaping has grown quite a bit since the last time I was here. Give me a foot up there's a loose brick somewhere on the top of the wall....."

"Steed, we're not breaking and entering are we?"

"Of course not, Mrs Peel! I've acquired a lot of dirt over the years......"

"I know Steed, but that's not important now....."

"Real estate, Mrs. Peel...Parcels of land. What did you think I was talking about? " Steed jumped down from the wall brandishing a key. "I don't have tons of money stashed in musty vaults, save the small amounts that I have scattered about for a rainy day fund. I bought a lot of property with my ill-gotten gains. A little here, a little there. I first saw this place after crossing over from Calais after the liberation of Paris. A couple of years later, I bought her. Of course she's been turned out ever since as a rental."

Emma smirked. "So what we have here, is the Molly Malone cottage?"

Steed ignored her comment as he unlocked the front door."Of course, it's completely furnished. Remodeled in the last few years. Very convenient, if not exactly to my taste. I've had the refrigerator stocked. "

Emma stepped through the doorway and admired the simplistic layout. The foyer was rough fieldstone and the room was constructed with a state of the art kitchen which dominated the great room. French doors led to the outside garden and terrace beyond. It was all very bright and white. In fact, Emma thought it to be the antithesis of Steed who liked heavy, dark furniture and historied dwellings with bad heating.

"It has three bedrooms upstairs . Why don't you wander through and I'll throw together the lunch and we'll picnic on the beach."

By the time Emma had explored the rest of the house, Steed had packed the basket and blanket.

There was a footpath that wound down to the cove below. Steed steadied her with a hand on her elbow for the steeper footing. He spread the blanket by the shelter of a large rock outcropping that blocked the wind and wordlessly laid out the dishes with a concentration that Emma found amusing.

"Steed, it looks delicious. I'm quite suddenly famished."

"There's a marvelous white that I ordered from the village." He poured them both a glass. "It's rather crisp and clean and goes rather well with the peaches and goat cheese. Sounds like an unusual pairing, but the smoky taste of the cheese is offset by sweetness of the peach. Rounded off by the baguette of course. Or, there's always the shrimp salad."

"Steed, everything's marvelous. However," Emma contemplated the peach, "I'm not sure I dare. However, everything else is perfect."

When they had finished eating, she lay back and luxuriated the sound of the crashing waves and the intoxicating effect of the wine and sunshine. Steed lay propped on one elbow. Emma could feel Steed's eyes on her. She slowly opened her eyes to find Steed staring intently at her.

"Are you going to stare at me, or are you going to kiss me?"

Steed didn't need further prodding and promptly brought his lips to hers. There was nothing more intoxicating than Steed's slow, deep, precision kisses. He used just the right amount of pressure. Emma felt quite limp and languid below him changed as if by alchemy from solid to liquid. Steed quickly changed from cool to hot. His kisses became more insistent, more heated. Emma involuntarily flinched as she felt Steed's hand on her stomach. Emma placed both her hands on Steed's chest and pushed with just enough force to separate herself from his embrace.

Steed looked at her intently without a trace of anger. "I don't understand," Steed said softly. "You invite me to kiss you and then push me away. Why? Don't you want to make love with me? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid of the shift of power. I'm terrified of the degree of vulnerability you are capable of extracting from me. I don't want to wonder when you're not home on time where you are, or even if you're ever going to return. I don't think I've got the strength." Emma said simply. "I want trite things like physical and emotional security. Things you couldn't possibly understand."

"But I _do _understand. I've told you I want to marry you and retire. What more is there?" Steed said tiredly. "Are you still in love with Peter? "

Emma sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes and sighed heavily." No. The simple fact is that we wanted different things. Beyond that, I don't want to discuss it further."

"I am sorry. Well, my offer is open and on the table so to speak." Steed smiled "Anyway, its getting late you have a job interview, and as for me, I think a little daylight reconnaissance of the Eubury Plant is in order. " Steed fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and extracted a ring. "Give me your hand, my dear."

Emma stunned, let Steed lift her left hand and place a rather large, square emerald ringed with diamonds firmly on her finger. "I had it reset and sized for you. It seems presumptuous of me, but you once looked at one like this in Paris. I hope to follow this up with a more traditional proposal later, but right now it's necessary for our cover. We've been married for the last year and I'm a freelance journalist for the ubiquitous travel trade. It gives one unlimited leeway for asking any number of mundane questions and will allow me to stumble through the country-side without raising any eyebrows. Oh, and do your best not to lose it. It's extremely valuable, but more importantly, the stones are from my Gran's ring."

*****

After driving to the plant, Steed and Emma split up in the parking lot and promised to meet back at approximately 430pm.

" Dr. Knight, I've looked over your resume, and I must say it is very impressive. My biggest question is how you perceive your role in furthering the company's economic market share." Dr. Mathias shuffled through the papers in front of him.

Emma seated across the massive oak desk and tried to look appropriately motivated. "Surely, that's a role for your marketing department? I envision my contributions to be more in the line of research and development. Of course, conditions are favorable for the market. Coupled with a normal spring which would preclude a shift to soybeans, the company could be in a very financially favorable position."

Emma felt as if she had already begun selling fertilizer.

"A very astute analysis of the market." Dr. Mathias said in a pleased voice.

They discussed the relative merits and balance of the three organic, three primary, and three secondary elements and the mix of micro-nutrients that make up the base fourteen and how effective they were on diverse crop studies. They then moved on to a detailed analysis of the Haber Process. Just when Emma began to think she was going to have an out of body experience, Dr. Mathias moved to rise from behind the desk.

"Why don't I show you around the plant and we can discuss your reactions? It's an old building, the production part needs renovating, but we are quite proud of our facility here and are committed to providing all the resources necessary to maintaining our research edge."

Dr. Mathias passed behind her placing his hand too familiarly for Emma's comfort in the small of her back. She resisted the urge to somersault him onto his pompous ass. Once the mission was completed, Steed owed her the most expensive dinner to be had in London.

"Let me show you the research lab first. We analyze and create fertilizers with the proper composition and balance for the optimal crop yield. The microbiology section tests for the presence of pathogenic bacteria and quantifying pesticide residues. They also perform testing on disinfectants, fungicides and soil sanitiziers to ensure their effectiveness."

Emma met with two research assistants and inspected the adequate lab facilities. After exiting the lab, Emma and Dr. Mathias moved past a bored looking security team and entered a small changing and showering area.

"For the complete tour of the production plant you'll need to don protective gear. Chemical goggles must be carried at all times. In the actual manufacturing area, you will need the full safety suit with butyl rubber gloves and boots, plus respiratory protection. Safety has always been paramount to the Eubury Corporation, Dr. Knight. While you change, I'll go to Personnel and start the paperwork. If you like what you see, we can have you on board by Monday."

Emma, with an inscrutable look on her face she hoped passed for interest, decided that dinner was not going to be enough. Steed was going to owe her a trip to her vacation destination of choice.

Dr. Mathias handed her the complete kit, all approximately in her size. When she emerged from the ladies changing area, the good Doctor was back and waiting expectantly.

Emma felt like an alien invader, curiously detached in her sensory deprived state as she moved among the huge, stainless steel tanks of the factory. She was unprepared for the heat and smell. Even with the protective gear, her eyes stung slightly. It was noisy as well, a loud industrial hum that shook the floor beneath, and there was the jarring impact of the metal scaffolding as the workers moved above from vat to vat. Emma imagined that the same ambience must exist at the sulphured gates of hell. Emma motioned to leave to Dr. Mathias.

"Well, that was certainly overpowering. " Emma said stripping off her mask and gloves once safely off the floor. She was streaming sweat. "How are the emission level standards?

"Well within the legal limits, Dr. Knight."

Emma was betting he was lying. But her biggest question was how quickly she could get out of here. She shook his hand after agreeing to return at 830am on Monday.

Emma waited until quarter after five, then began to worry about Steed's whereabouts. He finally showed up nonchalantly emerging from a dense line of trees as if out for an evening stroll. Emma's concern quickly turned to irritation as she could see that he was in perfect health, and apparently, perfect spirits.

"Where have you been?" Emma demanded with her arms folded firmly across her chest.

"Sorry I'm late, my dear. Head of Security found me wandering the grounds and took me over to this charming pub and insisted on buying round after round. He was a little cool at first, but I told him I was married to you. Did you know that the plant has a ratio of three security persons per twenty-five workers? I don't think our Ministry Defense Plants have that level of security. Oh, and the hardware is just as impressive. Before he found me, I checked the storage room, they had a regular armory. And how did your afternoon go? Did we get you gainfully employed?"

"Yes." There was a long pause that was finally punctuated by the roaring to life to the Aston's engine. Steed had to step quickly once again to avoid being left.

"Well, really dear. Here I sit, prepared to be supportive and relive your career triumphs and you're just not communicating with me."

Emma swore under her breath.

"I'm sorry, Emma did you say something?

"I've had to talk about fertilizer for the last hour. Inhale its fumes for the last 30 minutes and I'm really not up for your own particular brand of _fertilizer_ right now Steed. I don't know if I'll ever get the smell out of my hair " Emma said coldly. "The plant looks like a throwback to the Dickens age. If the Doomsday Group doesn't blow it up, I'll be tempted to do so myself. Dr. Mathias seems oblivious. I know their emission levels are nowhere near standard. Even with protective gear, I could feel the burn. Do you know what the collective exposure to those fumes can do to a human being?"

"Yes." said Steed simply. " But then, I've always been a Luddite. It's a horrible job, but it's a wage packet. I don't know what the answer is, these days I'm not even sure of the correct question.. The old community was completely dependent on a fishing and farming economy. But with the recent pollution, the fishing industry has all but been destroyed. More and more, those that have formerly made an independent living off the bounty of the sea and land are forced to take industrial jobs. Science, it's the curse of modern society." Steed said thoughtfully.

"I disagree, science is wonderful. Mankind is simply incapable of keeping up with its technological advances. Science has given us vaccinations against disease, the ease and convenience of jet age travel, microwave cooking, and a host of other modern day inventions. Unfortunately, humanity and an enlightened attitude lag well behind technological advances. It's the main reason I considered selling off Knight Industries. To be competitive in the market, one has to cut expenses in the way of employee staffing and benefits. Humanism is completely out the door. It's hard to reconcile my principles to the current business environment which is pushing towards enslaving the third world nations populations into producing goods for the consumption of the expanding middle class . Did you know that currently the world's wealth is held by 3 percent of the world's population? There are days when I feel positively socialist!" Emma said somewhat heatedly.

"Well, I for one prefer a simpler lifestyle. I'm thinking of a simple dinner, followed by a simple brandy." Steed said with a distinct note of false optimism. "I say you're not going to pass on that blind curve are you?" Steed said with alarm.

Emma drove with her usual break neck speed. By the time she had driven back to the cottage, some of her good humour had been restored by the obvious discomfort Steed manifested. It had always amused her that Steed, with his renowned nerves of steel, was agitated by her driving. Emma parked on the grass by the edge of the cliff.

"I'm going for a swim. I've got to diffuse this chemical stench off of me. Are you interested in coming?"

"You're going for a swim?" Steed said incredulously. "The water temperature must be a good forty-five degrees! You're going to freeze your…." Steed trailed off. Damn the impetuousness of the woman! She was already well out of earshot. Apparently, his dinner was going to have to wait. Well, one thing was certain, if they had daughters, Steed was in serious trouble. He watched her strip as she neared the water's edge and then continued to watch her until she had moved smoothly beyond the breakers. Steed then turned and trudged up to the cottage. He returned 15 minutes later with a large blanket and towel, and a very large brandy. He sat on the nearest rock that still afforded dry sand for his hand tooled leather shoes and lit up a cigar. Emma was now treading water about 6 yards offshore, and called to him again to join her.

"I'm afraid the water is a little too frigid for my taste." Steed said pointedly.

"You're not going to sit and watch me get out are you? You are planning to be a gentleman and leave the towel there, aren't you?

"You weren't so shy about 20 minutes again. And yes, I have every intention of sitting here until you emerge. One does take that chance when one chooses to skinny dip on a public beach. One can only hope that the local vicar, whom you met at Sean's funeral, and who by the way lives not 400 yards around the bend, doesn't choose to take his routine evening constitutional. And darling, you know I'm not really a gentleman."

"You bastard."

"Darling, your language of late has been absolutely shocking! I hope you're not going to talk that way around the children. Anyway, I've memorized every nuance and freckle on that gorgeous body of yours and could find every erogenous zone on your body blindfolded, so any semblance of false modesty is completely out of character for both of us." Steed emitted a thin, white stream of smoke skyward.

Emma, succumbing to cold and futility, began making her way to shore. She rose from the sea as if Aphrodite newly risen. Damn Steed. He really was the most infuriating man. Emma's teeth were chattering in the cool evening wind, but she was determined to make Steed as uncomfortable as possible. She languidly walked up to him, took the proffered towel and began to towel off her hair vigorously as she ignored his look of lust. Looking covetously over at his brandy, Emma asked "Where's mine?"

Steed, finally recovering his power of speech, downed a sip of brandy too rapidly and replied hoarsely. "I'm afraid you're going to have to fire me as cabana beach boy, I was only able to bring a blanket, towel and one glass. If I'd only brought the hand towel I was contemplating, I would have been able to bring the second glass. By the way, you look rather cold, " Steed said looking pointedly at her chest. " I think that for both our sakes you should wrap this around you." Steed rose and enveloped her with the warm blanket. Emma took Steed's glass from the top of the rock and drained it in one gulp.

"Emma, I'll have you know that was a thirty year old Napoleon. That brandy is for sipping not gulping." Steed said with mock irritation. "Perhaps you should go jump in the bath before you catch pneumonia." He then sat back down staring moodily out to sea. He said without looking back at her, " Mind how you go, the footing can be a bit tricky."

When Emma turned from the top of cliffs she could still see the ember of his cigar flaring in the gloaming below like a firefly. God, he did infuriate her so, but he also amused her. Mercurial at best, his moods seemed to change ever more rapidly.

End of Part I

1


	2. Part II

1 Ashes to Ashes Part II

"April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring." T.S. Eliot

As Emma soaked in the warm, soapy water of the bath, she reflected with a mortified twinge on her behavior in the last twenty-four hours. If anyone had told her that she would have acted in such a disgraceful, undignified manner she would have sworn that they didn't know her, that didn't understand, who she was at all. Emma Knight, who valued the triumph of intellect and reason over emotion had just put on the most appalling display of bad manners she had exhibited since age eleven. What Steed thought of her was almost secondary; she felt shocked and betrayed by her own emotions. It was mortifying remembering how she had been so moved by jealousy and anger to have actually slapped him. And then this last escapade on the beach... It was too much to endure. Still, she couldn't hide in the bath forever. Eventually, she would have to emerge from the rapidly cooling water and face the one person whose opinion she actually gave a damn about, the one person she trusted more than she trusted herself. She emptied her glass and pulled the drain plug. Emma exited the bathroom driven equally by the realization that her fingertips were now quite prune-like and by the delicious smells which wafted in from under the door. God, she was famished. Steed was obviously cooking something scrumptious. Emma lifted Steed's dressing gown off the robe hook and breathed in Steed's scent deeply before putting it on and belting it around her slim waist. How wicked that he was capable of laying such siege to all her senses in such a relentless fashion after all these years. Emma put on her most imperturbable face and emerged from the bath to face whatever consequences that lay beyond.

"Ah, at last. I thought I might have to send a search party after you." By scarcely glancing in her direction, it was obvious that Steed was remaining aloof. For all the insouciance of the man, he was surprisingly sensitive at times and Emma found that endearing.

Steed had at some point, taken off his jacket and lost his tie. His shirt was unbuttoned to the center of his chest. Emma admired the fine feathering of dark hair exposed where the top of his white shirt diverged as she stood next to him. She indecisively wondered whether to apologize again for the second time in twenty-four hours, or to continue as if none of the earlier unpleasantness had ever occurred. Emma chose discretion and carefully poured herself a generous measure of wine into a glass. Her irritation from earlier had vanished entirely and was replaced by a bewildering myriad of emotions. It was easier when she was angry with him; anger was a much simpler emotion which actually served to enervate her. She enjoyed their verbal fencing -their banter served to deflect underlying tensions and personality clashes. Their cultural differences were inconsequential. They had differing tastes in music and in art, but were both mature enough to allow for their individuality. Upon reflection, they actually had far more in common than they had differences. Both enjoyed the country lifestyle with forays into town for dinner, theater and other events.. They liked the same books and attended the same parties. In fact, Emma admitted, the only time they resorted to verbal skirmishes was when they weren't sleeping together. Oh, they had fought intensely once or twice but it had always been because of reciprocal jealousy. They had been mutually insatiable. Emma acknowledged with regret that nothing she had experienced with Peter, either before or after his disappearance, had ever duplicated the same heights of passion. Gazing at Steed, Emma couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to again be in his arms, or more accurately, in his bed. What she asked instead was how much longer before dinner was ready.

"Steed, it smells wonderful. The sooner we eat the sooner I can get back to the hotel and a much needed change of clothes."

"How wonderful that you're counting the minutes till dinner. I'll consider that as a ringing endorsement of my culinary skill," Steed said with exaggerated politeness. "But as for the ride back to the hotel, I'm afraid that would now be impossible."

"Impossible… _how_?" Emma said evenly.

"While you were languishing in the bath, the coastal fog of which this area is so famous for, has crept in on the proverbial cat feet. I'm afraid we're stuck until the wind changes." Steed said with only a trace of satisfaction betraying his carefully cultivated tone of commiseration.

"I haven't got a stitch of clean clothing." Emma wailed and starting for the first time to feel well and truly sorry for herself. At this rate, she would soon be reduced to washing out her unmentionables in the sink.

"Really, Emma. This recent obsession with clothing and luggage! You look most fetching in my dressing gown. And you'll find lingerie in the left bureau drawer."

"What did you say?"

"I bought you some underwear."

"Why would you do something so presumptuous?"

"I prefer to think of it as being optimistic. Considerate even. Must be that boy scout training."

Emma's explosive exhale of air imperfectly conveyed her complete exasperation with Steed and with her current situation as she stalked off to sulk in the living room. She curled up on the couch and considered her options. Emma's state of mind made her anxious to get back to the neutral ground of the hotel and to fresh clothing That avenue for the time being was now closed to her. She was tired of the strain of being in the company of Steed without actually being able to fully relax. She needed solitude to think, to regain her equilibrium. The most dangerous part of being around Steed was that one could lose their objectivity and be pulled into the vortex of his charm. She wondered for the umpteenth time just what exactly she was doing here. She really had no desire to play cloak and dagger. She dreaded Monday and her return to the Eubury Plant. In the moments when she was being honest with herself, Emma acknowledged that she was waiting for Steed to do or say the one thing that would finally mend the breech between them. Close the distance that she was unwilling or unable to transverse alone. No matter how many times Emma went over it in her mind, she could not forget the easy manner in which Steed had let her go. The simple truth was that she had left with Peter not only out of a sense of duty, but because of the simple three word phrase that Steed had always found impossible to say. In the end, all she would have required was one word- stay. And yet, Steed had never uttered the simple request. He had thanked her as one would a fellow traveler with whom she had shared an afternoon's discretionary diversion. When Emma had cried that evening, Peter mistook her hot tears for a weary relief at his safe return. But Emma's tears had been for the impossible situation she found herself in; married to one man and in love with another. She had tried for seven long years to make an uneasy peace with her own emotions.

The last ten months with Peter had been extremely unpleasant. She and Peter had been fighting nonstop about whether they should have a child. Truthfully, Peter had never really liked children. Peter tolerated Emma's nieces and nephews and they had in turn, rewarded him the gift of their complete indifference. On the other hand, they had adored Steed. Steed who never minded practicing with and perfecting their cricket skills, who had taken them for break neck rides over the fields, and demonstrated the definitive way to tickle a trout. In the end, Emma had solved their mutual differences by divorce. To take her mind off her current ruminations, Emma worked out her frustration by loudly and vigorously building a large blaze in the fire place.

"God bless you, I see you've lit a fire. Just the thing to offset the chill." Steed looked askance at the angry young woman wielding the fire iron with such violence. He refilled her wineglass with a pale liquid and motioned Emma to the immaculately set table. "Trout Almondine. I was thinking something more indigenous to the coast, but as it turns out there are also several fresh water streams in the area. They say the fishing is superb….."

"I think Sean Mortimer might have argued the point. However, I am willing to concede it's a perfectly charming area. Again, its unfortunate location at ground zero to the Eubury Plant does tend to detract from the appeal," Emma said witheringly..

"Yes, well, there are drawbacks in any situation. It's how one deals and adapts with the disappointments that define one. For instance, you'd think all that the radioactivity around the Dungeness plant would just frighten off the fisherman, but on the contrary, the anglers regularly fish the boil. That's the area where the hot water and sewage are dumped into the sea via the waste pipes of the plant. I think they call it the patch." Steed said conversationally, spearing his fork into the trout with obvious gusto. "It was still jumping this morning."

"I guess we're just lucky it doesn't have two heads."

The remainder of dinner was quiet. After dinner, Emma decided to draw and went to retrieve her much traveled art case from the boot of her car. Steed hadn't exaggerated about the fog. It was as thick as pea soup. Even though she was barely seventy-five paces from the cottage, the lights were dimmed as if viewed from a great distance. Once safely ensconced back in the warmth and light of the cottage, Emma began to sketch. Drawing soothed her nerves, and she admitted wryly, gave her complete, if only artistic control, over her environment.

Emma sketched for the next thirty minutes and Steed, stretched out on his back in front of the fire remained silent. Emma studied her subject at leisure from top to bottom, carefully avoiding letting her eyes linger below his belt. Emma shook her head to chase away any memories that lay down that path. Still, she couldn't help being reminded of that rainy weekend in Perth. The weather had been dreadful. They had been stuck inside for days by unrelenting sheets of rain and Emma had, after much coaxing, convinced Steed to pose in the buff. Emma had rendered her subject with slavish devotion to detail. She simply adored the sheer physically of him- the softness that overlaid the muscle. She wondered idly if Steed still had the pen and ink drawing that she had presented to him with a flourish. Steed had remarked at the time that it was very illuminating to see what she valued most in a man. Emma replied playfully that it wasn't her fault that he found it so hard to relax. Steed had demurred that it absolutely was indeed her fault and had wasted little time before demonstrating cause and effect.

'Do you mind if I have a look?" Steed said bounding to his feet and rapidly closing the distance to her side.. It never failed to astound her how quickly Steed could move. He reminded her of the lizards of Ibiza, one moment lounging indolently in the sun, the next as if alarmed by some minutiae shift in the wind, skittering from view.

Emma reflexively clutched the sketch pad to her chest.

"I'd rather you didn't," Emma stated. Her voice sounded rather formal even to her own ears.

"Oh, come now! I thought this was a collaborative effort! I'm quite willing to pose, it could be a sort of retrospective. I'm perfectly willing to strip off as I did in Cardiff. Really, I think I've managed to keep rather fit." Steed flexed his chest muscles beneath his Turnball and Aster shirt.

Emma, unable to contain herself any longer, burst into a fit of laughter.

"I must say I missed your laugh almost most of all, Emma," Steed said softly as he sat beside her on the sofa. He took her sketch pad gently from her hands and looked at it ruefully.

"What are these flame like things surrounding my head? It looks as though you've got me in one of Dante's seven circles," Steed said frowning at the drawing.

Emma shook her head gently. "It's unfinished. It's you against the backdrop of the fireplace. Really, Steed, as a Rorschach test it's much too obvious. But for curiosity's sake, in which circle would you feel must at home? Gluttony, lust, or perhaps, treachery?" Emma teased.

"Hmm. I respectively refuse to answer on the advice of my solicitor. No offense intended towards the artist, but it absolutely makes the hairs on the back on my neck stand up," Steed apologized as he handed back the sketch pad.

He regarded her thoughtfully. "I'm off to bed. I rang through to Miller and he's agreed to check us out of the hotel and bring the luggage in the morning. In the meantime, please feel free to keep my dressing gown. You can take the master bedroom at the back of the stairs. I left a pair of my pajamas on your bed and a spare toothbrush. Please make yourself at home. Goodnight, my dear." Steed stood and drained his brandy.

"Steed."

Steed paused in the doorway to the downstairs bedroom. "Yes, Emma?

"It was Perth."

"Yes, of course I remember. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."

"Do you still have the drawing?" Emma asked suddenly.

"Right next to the shot of me on my bearskin rug," Steed said solemnly. 'Of course, I only bring it out in select company. As a matter of fact, I don't think it's seen the light of day for the last seven years. I don't suppose you'd care to tuck me in?"

Emma with her index finger laid against her front teeth, regarded Steed appraisingly before shaking her head. "No. Goodnight. Sleep well."

"Oh, by the way, if you hear me about in the middle of the night, don't be alarmed. I've had the most appalling bit of insomnia," Steed said apologetically.

"I've got just the thing to put you right to sleep." Emma said confidently.

Steed looking rather stunned, did a double take from the doorway of the bedroom.

"Warm milk," Emma said firmly. "My nanny always gave me warm milk on the nights when I had trouble sleeping."

"Ah..I was thinking of something a little more strenuous," Steed said with a faint smile.

"Perhaps a fierce game of scrabble? No, Steed. You always cheat," Emma said.

"Well, goodnight then," Steed said with amazing good humor as he closed the door.

Emma remained staring at her sketch, and whether it was the reaction Steed had to the drawing, or a case of late night nerves, Emma shivered. Really, she was over tired and needed rest. There was no other rational explanation for the sudden feeling of dread conjured up by the simple lines of an unfinished drawing.

Emma woke at 1:30am, startled out of sleep by the muffled noises of someone who was trying desperately to be quiet. Straining her ears, Emma identified the sound of two male voices and placed them as coming from directly downstairs. The voices were low but there was an underlying urgency to the cadence and rapidness of reply. With years of practiced ease, Emma slipped from the bed swiftly and silently.

As she crept within sight of the entryway, Emma first saw the back of an unknown male, and then looking past, gazed directly into the very annoyed countenance of Steed who stood facing her. He was dressed in dark green cord trousers and a black turtleneck. Most telling of all, he had on his skulking shoes, a well worn pair of hiking boots.

"There, you see! I knew that you would wake her!" Steed said triumphantly. "You ministry types have all the field expertise of a pack of French boy scouts!"

The figure turned and Emma was amused to recognize the familiar, if now rapidly colouring face of George Miller.

Emma brushed her hair back out of her eyes, and crossing both arms in front of her said sweetly, "Insomnia, indeed. Now, exactly what are you two doing in the middle of the night?"

The men exchanged glances. It was Miller who broke first. "Well, it's a high level alert. There has been a flurry of activity in the area and the Ministry felt that the, uh, situation warrants closer investigation."

"A flurry of activity? Well, then the fog must have lifted." Emma

"Mostly." Miller cleared his throat nervously.

"Really. I'm not at my best with guessing games at this hour."

"What Miller means is that we are using the latest in infra-red night vision goggles. "

"You mean project T737-21," Emma said sagely.

Miller looked at Steed inquiringly. "You surprise me, Mrs. Peel. That project is classified. Even those with top secret clearance have no knowledge of the project"

"Quite. What you forget is that Knight Industries is on the cutting edge of electronics. You know, very top hush, spy counter spy sort of thing. I believe we bid on the contract, " Emma said conspiratorially.

Miller blinked in reply.

"Good. I see you've brought the luggage." Emma immediately lost interest in Miller and moved to claim her bag.

"Ah, well. We should be back by the time you've unpacked," Steed said over his shoulder as the two men headed towards the front door.

"Oh, no you don't Steed. You're not going without me. I'll be changed and ready to go in 15 minutes."

"I'm sorry that would be impossible! We only have four goggles," Miller sputtered and immediately looked to Steed for support.

"I'm sure that Steed will share. He is uncommonly good about that sort of thing." Emma said patiently as she re-tightened the belt of Steed's robe around her waist.

"Yes, I'm sure," Miller stammered.

Steed raised his hands palms outward and shrugged. "Well, she does have complete top, hush, hush clearance from the Ministry, he murmured. " Why don't we invite those two sergeants out front in for coffee, Miller?"

The two sergeants had been remarkably amiable to the offer of coffee and now sat open mouthed as Emma re-entered the room wearing dark tailored trousers and a black leather jacket. Steed too lost himself in a moment of unabashed admiration before collecting his wits and making the introductions. "Gentlemen, this is Dr. Emma Knight the noted micro-biologist. Emma, sergeants Whittier and MacGregor of the Royal Fusiliers."

Whittier, the younger and more expressive of the two, blushed as he rose to his feet, uncertain whether to salute, or to shake Emma's hand. MacGregor, a dour Scot, rose and nodded curtly in her general direction.

"Well, then, now that we have the polite chatter over and done with… What do you say we synchronize our watches?" Steed asked briskly.

Once the five had reached the outer perimeter of the Eubury Plant, Steed reached into the back of the jeep and grabbed a medium sized backpack. It was agreed that since they only had four gas masks and Emma was the only one who had actually seen the inside of the plant, Sgt. Whittier would remain with the jeep and the remaining quartet would split into pairs and meet back at the rallying point at 0430 hours. Steed and Emma elected to search the actual plant while Miller and SSG MacGregor would trace the route of the numerous trucks that had been observed in the area.

Steed knelt in the grass, and after he had fitted his goggles, unwrapped an oilcloth containing two weapons. He handed Emma a nickel plate, pearl handled, 9mm that he had purchased for her early on in their relationship of which he had somehow retained possession. He then pulled out a Walther P38 fitted with a silencer and placed the one clip into the butt of the gun with a metallic click and placed an additional clip into his front pocket. Lifting his sweater, he placed the weapon down the front of his trousers.

"That's a big gun," Emma said sotto voice as she arched an eyebrow.

Steed whispered, "I took it off a German Officer who was trying to blow my brains out. It's been my good luck piece every since. One can never be too careful."

"It's not your brains I'm worried about. Speaking of careful, I hope you have the safety on."

Steed snorted softly. "The objective is to get samples from the tanks and from the packaged product. If time permits, we'll have a peek through the files. Tell me my dear, how good were you at Blind Man's Bluff?"

"Oh, I think I always managed to hold my own. Lead on, MacDuff." Emma said, locking her fingers firmly into the belt loop of Steed's cords.

It was a silent, two click walk before they reached the door of the warehouse. Steed reached into his pocket and sorted through an assortment of pick locks. He chose the longest and had the lock picked within seven minutes. He then removed his backpack and pulled out two masks and stowed his government issued goggles. After fitting both their masks securely to their faces, Emma and Steed entered the factory.

If the interior of the Eubury Plant had been slightly unworldly in the daylight, it was positively eerie in the dim security lighting. The huge industrial vats gave off noxious vapors that swirled and reflected in the amber light. Emma sought cover that strategically positioned herself to observe both the exterior and interior doors. Steed then drew a pair of rubber gloves from the pack and several steel vials which approximated miniature flasks which he then proceeded to fill from six of the twelve vats. This exercise took approximately 35 minutes and consisted of Steed climbing the iron scaffolding and then quickly lowering the vials from a chain. Once completed, Steed then carefully stored the vials into a leak proof wet bag which he then stowed back in the pack.

"Do you remember your way to lab?" Steed muffled in her ear.

Emma nodded and, getting her bearings, started towards a side door. Once outside of manufacturing, Steed and Emma removed their masks and wiped the sweat from their faces. They crept thru the darkened building and, as they drew close to shipping and receiving, discerned the loud hum of activity within the double doors. They listened diligently for several minutes, but were unable to note any conversation or commands. It was however, apparent from a quick recon that they were outnumbered by an approximate ratio of four to one. Finally, Steed indicated with a jerk of his head that they should continue on to the lab.

Once there, Steed quickly collected samples of all the beakers while Emma scoured the files and made photos of all the formulas and inter-office memos she could access. They were disturbed at their labors by the rapidly approaching footsteps of four booted feet. Both agents now worked frantically to remove all evidence of their presence. With the voices now directly outside the metal door, Steed opted for the coat closet and was joined in short order by Emma.

"Good. I don't see any signs of other intruders. We'll report back to Collins and let him deal with the situation. I suggest we work a little harder at getting those two to talk. After all, we don't have all night."

"Fine. Do what you have to do, and I'll move the last of the weapons out."

Steed and Emma remained motionless until the two were safely out of the room.

"I'm guessing Miller and MacGregor have been captured."

"Damned ministry pallor types! I have told Mother over and over that they are a hazard in the field to themselves and others," Steed said scathingly. "The only thing to do", Steed continued, "is to wait until the last load is dispatched and the numbers are a little more favorable for our side."

Steed looked at his watch. "4 am, they should be wrapping up anytime now." Steed gestured towards the door. "After you."

Emma smiled," I'll let you take the lead. I've got your back." Emma crouched behind Steed covering his flank and rear while sweeping visually left to right. Ahead, Steed surefooted his way thru the corridor. They found Miller and Macgregor bound and gagged in the broom closet adjacent to the loading dock.

As Steed bent to pull the duct tape from Miller's mouth he whispered."How many and where."

"Seven." Miller jerked his head towards the dock. Steed replaced the tape as Miller's blue eyes widened above.

"Let's keep you two quiet and see who comes back to baby sit you. Just think, if we hadn't come back you two would have probably wound up as fertilizer." Steed indicated that Emma should take a position on the other side of the door while they waited. Their patience was rewarded in short order as they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The door swung inward and Steed clipped the first guard on the back of his head with the butt of his gun. The second guard following in short order gaped at the prone body of his comrade and had a moment of pure fear in his eyes as Emma gave him a short chop to the carotid artery. He crumpled and Steed caught him as he dropped. Both he and Emma paused as they heard the sound of lift gates being latched and engines coughing to life.

"Sounds as if the troops are pulling out. Let's get out of here."

Steed and Emma quickly freed Miller and MacGregor. Steed bent and placed two fingers on the neck of the first guard then quickly repeated his ministrations to the second. "They'll both have crashing headaches, but they'll live."

They arrived back at the jeep Miller noticeable out of breath and MacGregor looking shame faced. Steed took the radio handset "Alpha Bravo 7 calling .Over. Come in Charlie Delta Niner. "

"Alpha Bravo 7, this is Charlie Bravo Niner. Over. "

"Charlie Bravo Niner, there are" , Steed paused and gestured to Miller wiggling the fingers on his left hand to indicate how many.....

Miller wanly held up three fingers.

Steed continued. "Three lorries that left thirty minutes ago from the Eubury Plant. More than likely they're heading out on the A250. Don't intercept, just follow and report back. Somewhere in those trucks are six cases of rifles, BARS , Enfields, and Brens. Out."

Steed and Emma were dropped at the cottage just as dawn was breaking lazily over the white cliffs.

"What now?"

"We wait for the sample reports. Miller and MacGregor will drive them back and London will rush through the analysis and my report," Steed yawned. "You'll have to forgive me my dear. I'm absolutely bushed."

It was almost noon before Steed wandered downstairs, freshly showered and shaved. Emma was already up and having coffee on the terrace.

"Ah. There you are. I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away. Help me with this: 89, radioactive, and the end of the line. Eight letters." Emma looked at Steed inquiringly her pen posed over the crossword.

"89, radioactive, end of the line. I've got it, unstable," Steed snapped his fingers.

Emma flashed Steed a brilliant smile. "The periodic table. You know Steed, there are those moments when you thrill me all the way down to my toes."

"Yes, but I always imagined, those occasions to be less cerebral in nature. I have my own big bang theory," Steed said with a good-natured leer.

Emma threw back her head and laughed. It amused her that Steed wasn't really even putting any effort into any semblance of seduction; he was just teasing.

"I'm bored. Let's go sightseeing." Emma threw the crossword and pen onto the table.

"You have to forgive me. I'm a little rusty at entertaining young ladies. We could drive to Ramsgate and get some pub grub. If you're really good, I'll take you to Dreamland and buy you all the candy floss your little heart desires. One stipulation."

"Anything."

"I'm driving."

"Alright," Emma acquiesced. "What is this sudden aversion to me driving? You were never a nervous passenger before."

"Tara only just learned to drive as a ministry trainee. She cracked up a car the very first time I rode with her, and after that she remained an appallingly bad driver. I had to let her drive every time we went anywhere. I think I have a permanent twitch."

They wound up in a pub in Ramsgate called the Churchill Tavern which Steed said had the best ales on tap. Emma led Steed by the hand, and by deft hip work, managed to insinuate them through the Saturday crowd to the bar. They examined the chalked menu board and both decided on the fish and chips.

"So, what will it be? Black Jack, or Old Thumper," Emma said indicating the ales.

"Old Thumper, surely. I'm surprised you had to ask."

They managed to get an outside table, and even through the evening chill was coming on, they sat comfortably outside and watched the sun set.

"Just our luck! The Soul Smugglers are playing. Apparently, they do top forty pop. You, know I haven't danced in ages....."

Steed looked askance. "You know I'm more the ballroom type, Emma."

"I'm confident in your versatility. Anyway, I'm sure if you're unwilling there must be someone in the crowd who would be willing to partner me." She gave a tiny wave to the three French Marines who had been eyeing her admiringly all night from across the bar.

"In that case," Steed looked dourly over at the young men and said darkly, "I'm going to need more beer."

Steed kept his promise and danced with Emma. His dancing improved as his drink consumption increased. He was actually quite good by the end of the night, and very, very drunk. His condition was hastened on by Emma who constantly caught the bartender's eye, and had his pint refilled. It was after all, two for one night. When time was called, Emma brushed back Steed's hair from his forehead and noticed he was swaying dangerously. Emma had a brief moment of panic. What if she had over played her hand? She was simply no match for his dead weight if he were unable to walk back to the car under his own power.

As Emma and Steed left the bar, the three French soldiers followed. When Steed and Emma got to the car park, Emma, who had been assisting Steed with his navigation, tightened her arm firmly around his waist, and whispered in his ear, "Darling, I don't know if you've noticed, but we have apparently picked up an entourage."

"Yes, Of course I noticed," Steed hissed. "I'm not that drunk. Why do you think I've been doing this exaggerated staggering?"

Emma wisely held her tongue.

Steed stopped and made a great show of turning out his pockets, swaying in the wind, and searching vainly for his car keys.

The biggest soldier stepped forward and with a shove in Steed's chest demanded his wallet and suggested that maybe they should see the charming lady home. Steed dropped him neatly with a well-timed knee to the groin followed by an upper cut. The second soldier, who had maneuvered behind Steed, now launched himself onto Steeds back. The third soldier in the melee took his moment to deliver a punch to Steed's face. Steed somersaulted the fellow on his back over his head, and placing his right boot in his ribs, twisted the soldier's arm with sufficient force to break it with an audible pop. The third sailor then dropped back to a defensive position, and realizing that he had bitten off more than he could chew, grabbed a board off a skip and swung it wildly back and forth in front of him, attempting to fend of the charge that Steed was on the verge of making.

"If you don't drop that board, I'm going to shove it up your ass," Steed said in a conversational tone made all the more menacing by its complete lack of emotion.

The soldier dropped the board with a thud.

"Now, take your friends and get out of here before I call the police."

As the soldier gingerly moved passed Steed to help his friends off the asphalt, Steed rabbit punched him in the solar plexus.

Steed stood over the prone man as he lay gasping for breath on the ground.

"I owed you that," said Steed, wiping a spot of blood off of his lip.

Emma, who had been lounging up against up the car wing, now walked up and looped her arm through Steed's. "Thank God you defended my honor," she said in an exaggerated southern drawl.

"You might have offered some assistance!"

"Steed, I'm wearing a skirt. Surely, you don't expect me to fight in a skirt? Besides, you didn't look as if you needed any assistance. I do think that young soldier took you literally. And, you said ass."

"Stop making fun of me. There were several nails in the end of the board. Someone could lose an eye. And yes, I noticed you're wearing a skirt. A very short, skirt. I think half the men in the bar noticed. Certainly, your fan club did. I had forgotten how perilous it is to take you out on the town. I don't even know where you get the gall to complain about my flirting. I don't think any barmaids have ever followed us out to the car park. And, Emma, I really don't have the car keys," Steed looked at Emma perplexed.

Emma produced the keys from her handbag.

"I picked your pocket on that last bit of close dancing. Let's go before we have a lot of explaining and paperwork to do. Given your delicate condition, I'll drive."

Steed, who was looking ill used, slid into the passenger seat of the rover. He remained mum for the next thirty minutes until the twisting and turning of the coast road became too much. Steed, who hadn't uttered a sound now made an urgent plea for Emma to pull the car over.

Steed bolted from the car and bent over the guard railing while his back heaved gently. Emma felt the first pangs of guilt. Straightening up, but without turning around, Steed then continued down the trail to the shore. Emma waited a decent interval and then switched off the ignition and followed.

Emma removed her heels and walked barefoot onto the loose sand. The full moon illuminated the night and glittered off the water. She scanned the beach and found Steed crouched down by a tidal pool splashing water on his face and spitting it back onto the sand.

Emma laughed. "Steed, you resemble one of those Gargoyles spouting rainwater."

Steed looked up balefully. "Stop humiliating me woman."

"I'm not humiliating you." Emma closed the distance to Steed as he stood and wrapped her arms around his neck. She had to raise on her toes to reach his lips. He didn't bend down, but he didn't draw away either. He flinched a little as she kissed his cut lip.

"You taste of salt and your lime cologne, and I choose you Steed. Warts and all. With all my sensibilities unclouded by all that physical heat, and friction. Anyway, who else would put up with us?" Emma looked Steed in the eye.

Steed pulled her closer. "Maybe, I like all that physical heat and friction."

"I'm not denigrating the physical; I'm just saying you can't build a relationship based on that alone."

"Yes, but you wouldn't buy a horse without first taking it out for a gallop."

"Oh, but I've sampled the merchandise." Emma dropped her right hand and cupped Steed's buttock.

"Aren't we mixing our metaphors? Anyway, if you wanted your wicked way with me. You needn't have gotten me drunk. My delicate condition, is as you call it, not the most conducive for romance." Steed's eyes glinted in the moonlight, but there was a slight smile on his lips.

"I know. I know. I don't what I was thinking, honestly."

Back at the cottage, Emma helped Steed up the stairs to the bedroom. She knelt on the floor as she removed Steed's shoes.

"You're not going to tumble out any more secrets like one of those Russian Nesting dolls are you?"

"I have one more secret. It's a big one."

Emma looked up apprehensively. .

"Robert Frost"

Emma looked perplexed.

"You know "ice will suffice?" Steed mumbled into his pillow. "I hate the cold."

Emma shook her head. "You love to ski. We went sledding that winter in Wiltshire." Emma trailed off. Remembering now, that Steed always spent more time in the bar. More time by the fire.

"No. I tolerate the cold, but it hurts me. I would never swim in freezing water. I limit my exposure. It brings out the cold inside."

"Like with frostbite." Emma was trying to make sense of what Steed was telling her.

"You know how the clergy is always on about the fiery pits of hell. And about excruciating it is to burn, but I have to side with Robert Frost for his vision of nihilism. Please don't look at me, Emma. When Teddy shot me, while I was bleeding out on the carpet....I willed myself to die. I was _so_ cold, Emma. Like I was already dead. I hadn't been that cold since the war. Bone chilling, aching in every muscle cold. You can't unclench your jaw. Miserable cold. I never told you about my cousin David. He was a year older. Better looking, smarter, a better athlete. A better man. We were assigned to the same unit. He was with me when our small cadre was caught behind the lines in Germany. David, who was like a brother to me, died there, shot in an ambush. Just a small hole behind his ear. He looked like he was sleeping. He was the first dead body I ever touched. It's strange, you _know _the precise moment when the body just becomes dead weight. The ground was too frozen to dig him a proper grave. We covered him with stones to keep him from the animals. I was five months from my 21st birthday. I couldn't cry in front of my men. Eleven of us were dropped in, four of us made it back. Sgt Hall had his brains blown out all over my shirt front. Pvt. Brown, a boy really, died gut shot crying for his mother. Smithey, had his leg blown off by a landmine. We couldn't transport him, couldn't afford to wait with him. Promises to keep don't you know. I wrapped him up warm in a blanket and pooled all our morphine for his overdose. I lied to him when I told him it would be all right, and then I closed his eyes and took back my bloodied blanket when he went all cold. Four of the dead, I can't even recall their faces. I remember where they died and how, but I can't see their faces. What kind of man doesn't remember the faces of the men who died alongside him? All I remember is the unrelenting cold and the hunger eating me alive. A man doesn't cry. All the guilt, the grief, and the terror compacted down into one hard, block of dirty ice that gnawed at my insides. I was like a piece of rotten fruit, except everything looked good on the outside. I didn't want to go home. I felt dirty. I took any job after the war for the money it afforded and the physical thrill. I only felt alive was when I was on the brink of physical danger, or in some stranger's bed. I wasn't very choosy. Sometimes, I forget the coldness is still there. That's my secret, Emma."

"Don't talk any more tonight Steed. Go to sleep. You're my knight in shining armor and I love you. Everything will be alright in the morning." Emma climbed in bed beside Steed and held him till she felt him relax. When he began to snore softy, Emma went back to her room to cry for the 20-year-old boy who had never cried for himself.

Early the next morning, Emma slipped back into Steed's room. He was lying on his stomach; his head buried underneath his pillow like an ostrich trying to block out the morning light. Emma flopped on the side of the bed. Steed groaned.

"Emma for the love of God, please stop shaking the bed."

Emma placed a warm hand on the back of Steed's neck. "I was hoping that you and I could have another drive around the coast. I hear the oysters are good in Hythe. You know, you never bought me that candy floss. How do jellied eels sound?"

"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a sadistic streak?"

"Hmm. I bought you aspirin and a glass of orange juice. I rather saw myself as a Florence Nightingale guise.. If you want black coffee, you'll have to come down stairs under your own steam. I refuse to carry you."

Steed twitched one bare shoulder in a gesture Emma interpreted as a shrug.

When Steed finally came down to the kitchen, Emma poured him a juice and coffee.

"How is your head?"

"Like the percussion section of the London Philharmonic has taken up residence in my left frontal lobe."

"I imagine. Are they using whalebone, or ivory?"

"I can't really tell."

"Is there anything on for today? The weather looks positively dreary."

"I was hoping for a quiet day at home after all the excitement last night. A simple meal. A loaf of bread and ...." Steed trailed off. "I'm waiting for the dispatches from London. And, I have an old friend dropping in for dinner, Michael St. Crispin. We were in the same house at Eton."

"Another one of those all shooting, all hunting types of fellows that are so ubiquitous to your crowd?"

"Emma, when have you known me to go hunting? You know I'm an animal lover. It seems unsporting with the animals so badly out armed."

"Tell that to Cathy Gale. And, you fraud, you go fox hunting."

"Yes, but you know that my sympathies are with the fox. I just like a good trot around the country-side. But granted, a charging Rhino does seem to be a more sporting match. I'll cede that to Cathy. And as for St. Crispin, he's a Professor at the University of Chichester. Ancient Languages. An interesting fellow. He doesn't really like women, but he'll love you."

"I can't imagine how I can construe that as a compliment. Doesn't like women, but he loves them? Sounds like every man I've ever known."

"That's not true of me. You know I both like, and love women. But as for St. Crispin, he's not sexually attracted to women. Prefers men, actually."

"Really? And he fought in the war with you?"

"Well, sort of. He was R.A.F. I like to say he flew above the war. In the Army it's just slog, slog, slog. I always resented the Air Force and the Navy boys. They never had to hike like we did in the Army. I'll have you know that St. Crispin almost has as many military decorations as I do. Of course, St. Crispin insists that the only reason I have more decorations is because the Army had better dispatch writers. He swears they all went on to be writers for the Rank Organization. He may be right. But he's a lethal shot and I'd much rather he have my back....don't snort Emma…than any of those so called macho men. He pulled me out of some sticky spots in East Berlin."

"I'm not laughing at your friend, Steed. Just the part of him having your back struck me as funny. I didn't mean it in any closed minded way. Shakespeare and DaVinci were possibly gay. Probably Lawrence of Arabia. I find it intriguing that you two are such good friends. I've always believed that you're in touch with your feminine side."

"I'm very secure in my masculinity," Steed with more than a note of finality.

"It would never occur to me to suggest otherwise," Emma said amiably.

"Sometimes St. Crispin and his partner come down to Wiltshire and we all go antiquing together," Steed said and his stare dared her to make a comment.

As Emma was pondering this mental image, there came a knock at the back door. Steed answered to find a dispatch rider on his door step dripping rain. Steed signed for the proffered papers.

"Looks like the lorries made a delivery to Hugh Hennessy's Estate just outside London. And, the results of the chemical analysis for Eubury are here. Would you like to take a look?"

Steed handed the papers over to Emma, who took off her shoes and stretched out on the Chesterfield while Steed busied himself in the kitchen preparing pasta for dinner.

"The secret to the pasta is in the sauce. I thought I would cook your favorite meal served with an excellent sourdough from the village bakery. Finished off with a spirited little red."

Emma jerked her head around to see if Steed was pulling her leg, but all she got was his impervious poker face.

"Wine," Steed said innocently. All raised eyebrows.

"Looks like the sun, if it were to be visible, is well over the yard arm. Hair of the dog and all of that."

Emma took the offered glass. Steed raised Emma's legs off the couch, took a seat and then lowered Emma's legs across his lap.

"Steed, these specs are off. Just a tad, but enough to make them ineffective. As a matter of fact, with this inversion, the fertilizer is not only ineffective, it's more like a herbicide. A chemical burn if you will."

Steed began massaging Emma's feet.

"Steed, you're distracting me."

"I know," Steed grinned. "But, I'm not trying to seduce you. I'd like nothing better to sit here and enjoy your company until our dinner guest arrives."

Emma was touched by the sincerity of Steed's statement. She looked at him fondly.

"I'm imagining that as a girl you would have carried my books home from school"

"Well, Emma I think there were definite laws about that sort of thing. I mean this isn't a Charles Dodgson sort of situation," Steed said with mock alarm."

"I suppose you're right. I never really think about the age difference at all. That July afternoon, when I hit your car, all I could think of was how incredibly attractive you were. How your eyes twinkled, but I couldn't get a fix on the color. You were so charming. It was masterly, the way you vaulted out of that barge of a car. Very athletic. Then you put your foot on my bumper and pushed down on my car until it was freed from underneath your car. I think your thighs rippled under your Saville Suit. And you were so sang froid about the entire situation."

"Emma, I have another confession. I had noticed you in my rear view mirror for three city blocks. I also noticed that you jack-rabbited off when the light changed. And well, I deliberately stalled the Bentley." Steed steeled himself for Emma's response.

"You deliberately caused that accident?"

"I'd hardly say an accident. More a minor fender bender. How was I to know, you'd bury the nose of the Lotus on my undercarriage? And I fully assumed responsibility."

"I would hope so. Because, apparently, you were responsible."

"Yes, because I was desperate to meet you. I thought there might be just a slight bump. Just a slight kiss of the bumpers, if you will. You really do follow too closely. But," Steed finished quickly, "I thought that if I let you drive off, I'd never see you again. It was a calculated risk."

"No wonder you were so insistent on paying for the damages. All this time, I thought the accident was my fault. More importantly, I thought it was fate. You know, my horoscope and everything," Emma mused.

"It was fate. Sometimes we just have to help it along. I was smitten from the very first glimpse of you. Do you believe in love at first sight?" Steed stopped massaging her feet and looked at Emma inquiringly.

"I don't know that it was love at first sight, but certainly, I was very attracted to you," Emma said carefully.

"I was terrified that you were going to be one of those vacuous Sloane Rangers. I was steeling myself for those rounded, drawn out vowels when you opened your mouth. But you were so intelligent and engaging. Warm. Wry. The more I knew you, the more I fell completely under your spell. You changed me so much Emma. First our intellectual connection, then the emotional connection. I could tell you were a bit of hellcat the way you launched yourself out of the Lotus. I need a woman who can go toe to toe with me."

"Hellcat? I'm surprised you didn't wind up with Cathy Gale."

"A little formidable even for my tastes."

"She wouldn't have you."

"Really?" Steed looked at her slyly.

"You didn't!"

"No, but she thought about it. The only problem is that she would have disliked herself more than she ever disliked me afterwards. She's very hard on herself. I'm sure she fancied me more than a bit."

"Modest aren't you?"

"Realistic. It would have been a stormy union. Discretion, rather than valor. No, I've looked far and wide. I'm afraid you're the one. You are the Yin to my Yang, Mrs. Peel. "

Emma stretched out her hand to caress Steed's cheek. "I have a confession as well. I kept a bar of your lime soap and your woodsy cologne in my lingerie drawer, just to remind me of your scent. It used to drive me mad."

"You know that sounds incredibly sexy when you say that. However, if I were to say something like that, it would sound, well, the phrase very inappropriate , comes to mind."

"Now, Steed."

"Now?"

Yes, now," said Emma firmly. She leaned forward and met him halfway into the kiss. God, she had forgotten what it was like, the proximity and the resultant animalistic heat they were capable of generating. She bit his neck while luxuriating in his warm and addictive scent, all citrusy and woodsy just as she remembered it. It made her weak in the knees. Eventually, she rose from the couch and took Steed firmly by the hand. It was Steed who hesitated.

"Emma, I might be a little light on the trigger. It's been a while.....Steed trailed off.

"You know, somehow I'm not worried about that at all..." Emma smiled reassuringly.

All the uncertainly fell away with their clothes.

They were awakened a few hours later by an insistent knocking on the front door. Emma curled against Steed's back, waked first. She had to shake Steed's shoulder twice before he came around.

"Steed. Steed," Emma whispered in his ear.

"Ummm." Steed murmured sleepily.

"The _front door _Steed."

Steed sat up brushing an errant lock of hair off his forehead.

'I'm not expecting anyone at this hour," Steed said flatly as he consulted his watch and then lay back down.

"It's probably the vicar. Come to call on the new neighbors."

The visitor began a new volley of knocks, louder this time. Steed rose abruptly, throwing the sheet back and grabbed up his dressing gown. He made short work of the stairs anxious to confront whatever unwelcome intrusion lay behind the door. Steed fumbled briefly with the lock and flung open the heavy door. He stood blinking in the soft afternoon light as his eyes lit on the familiar forms.

"Purdey. Gambit." It sounded more like an accusation than a greeting.

"Steed, I know it's bad timing," Gambit said barely containing his wry amusement as he glanced back at the Aston Martin parked in the drive. "But we have to talk to you now. Mother is not happy."

Purdey studiously tried to avoid looking at her boss. She had seen Steed in casual clothes, but it was a little over whelming to see so much of him. She had to admit, he was rather well preserved. Well defined chest muscles, and very broad shoulders. His hair was mussed and he looked very annoyed.

"Yes, of course. Let me dress. Do you want to wait inside? Steed stood in the door awkwardly. "I'll only be a moment."

Gambit entered quickly, expectantly looking about for signs of a female presence. His keen eye lingered on the empty wine bottles and the glasses tipped on their sides. His face lit with a wolfish grin.

"Purdey, to her credit, ignored Gambit. Frankly, the whole situation irritated her on some level she wasn't comfortable examining. She _knew _exactly in whose name that Aston Martin was registered.

"That's Mrs. Peel's car," Purdey hissed.

"Really. And how would you know that?"

"I've read the files. You can look it up on the computer."

"And why, Purdey girl, would I want to do that?"

"Because she broke Steed's heart."

"Maybe she just tenderized it a little. Or, maybe they broke each other's hearts. Anyway, it appears they patched it up. Besides, Steed is no saint. I couldn't tolerate him if he were."

"The trouble with you Mike Gambit is that you lack poetic imagination."

"I'll take that to mean that I'm not inordinately inquisitive. I'm sure Steed's earned the right to some privacy. Besides, I've always wanted to meet the legendary Mrs. Peel."

Steed avoided Emma's gaze as he dressed quickly. Emma lay back on the bed, observing every move Steed made. He could feel her watching him as he zipped up his trousers and pulled a polo shirt from the drawer.

"I suppose you heard that?" Steed turned to Emma inquiringly.

Emma raised one eyebrow by way of reply and shrugged her shoulders. She then very deliberately turned her back to Steed and pretended to go back to sleep. She was irritated by the intrusion and felt run to earth like some hunted animal. Let Steed deal with it. After all, they were his partners.

Steed busied himself in the kitchen preparing drinks and excused himself for a moment to carry a glass up to the bedroom. When he returned, he suggested that the three of them would be more comfortable on the terrace.

Purdey and Gambit sipped at their drinks while enjoying the break in the weather. It had gone all sunny and smelled fresh the way it does after a hard spring rain. Steed was off guard and preoccupied, and Gambit was enjoying himself immensely at the older agent's expense.

"So, when are we going to be introduced to the delectable Mrs. Peel?" Gambit asked hopefully.

"Dr. Knight," Steed corrected automatically. "Since the four of us will be working together I'm sure you'll meet her soon enough. She's analyzing some reports."

Gambit sputtered into his drink. Purdey satisfied herself with one perfectly timed cough.

"Well."

The two agents looked at Steed quizzically.

"Mother?"

"Yes. Well, he said he wasn't happy with your report. He said 'George Miller is a horse's ass, and that Purdey and I should hurry post haste down here as reinforcements because the military is making it a cluster."'

Steed didn't know whether to be offended, or grateful.

"Hmmm. You're both staying for dinner. Hope you like red sauce with clams. And please tell me that you have a hotel?"

Gambit answered in the affirmative and Steed pondered the vagaries of the evening's company. It was going to be a rough night. He could feel it. Gambit was going to ride him unmercifully. He liked the younger man. He reminded Steed of his younger self. Brash, perhaps a little too rough around the edges. But a diamond nevertheless, and just as hard.

Purdey, was another matter entirely. A long-legged English rose. He caught her looking at him sometimes with that mixture of awe and curiosity that made him nervous. He was a little infatuated with her, but he had learned some hard lessons about mixing business with pleasure. Also, he wasn't about to get caught between Gambit and the object of his desire. Better to let the two younger agents figure out between the two of them. And then, there was Emma.

Steed pressed the two agents into kitchen duty and set about preparing salad and setting the table. Just when he thought he was going to have to coax Emma into putting in an appearance, she finally came down the stairs looking radiant.

Steed introduced Emma to Gambit and Purdey. She shook hands all around and then wiped an imaginary smudge from Steed's lower lip before giving him a quick kiss. Steed looked momentarily surprised then regained his neutral expression. He wasn't used to being demonstrative in public. PDA wasn't usually Emma's style, but he realized she was firing a preemptive strike."

"Set five places for dinner please, Purdey. I have a friend coming for dinner."

"I can't wait for the next surprise. How many more spirits will visit this night? The ghost of Christmas past, or Christmas future? If Tara shows up, I'm leaving," Purdey said in an aside to Gambit. As if on cue, the front door bell rang.

"That will be St. Crispin. Punctual as usual. You can set a watch by that man. I can't think why you didn't use the doorbell, Gambit. I'm shocked you didn't bruise your knuckles."

St. Crispin was thin with a shock of premature white hair and vivid blue eyes. He wore a black turtle neck and grey flannel trousers. He wasn't as tall as Steed, and was much more spare. He had a vitality that almost crackled thru the air.

"Michael, these are two friends of mine, Gambit and Purdey. We work together. This is Emma. I'm sure I've mentioned her."

"Ah, Mrs. Peel. In the flesh. I was beginning to think that Steed and made you up." His eyes crinkled merrily. He examined the ring on Emma's left hand. "Well done."

Emma wasn't sure if he was referring to the ring, or to Steed.

"Ah, we're under cover."

"You disappoint me, Steed." St. Crispian shook his head.

"If she agrees to marry me, you'll be the first to know."

Halfway through dinner, Steed began to relax, grateful that, so far, his worst fears weren't materializing. Any one of his engaging dinner partners had any number of embarrassing stories to relate. He was sorely out numbered and if all his secrets tumbled out, he would not be able to ride the rising tide. Gambit was flirting outrageously with Emma, apparently beguiled. Michael witty as ever, bantered between Emma and Gambit. Only Steed and Purdey looked a bit glum. Steed finally took his glass and went to sit on the edge of Purdey's chair.

"Well, apparently Emma is the belle of the ball. She has them both in thrall."

Steed looked up appraisingly. "Oh, I don't know. Gambit thinks he's winding me up. I shouldn't worry anyway, Gambit's much more Michael's type than Emma. He likes them rugged and just a little, well, rough." He smiled at Purdey and squeezed her hand. Purdey's eyebrows shot up into her hair line.

"And of course, Gambit's quite mad for you. I have very avuncular feeling for Mike. However, I had the feeling once, or twice that he wanted to take me on. He seems quite the jealous type."

"Gambit has no reason to be jealous." Purdey colored a little.

"Oh, I don't know. If things were different...Had I been a younger man. I would have definitely given a Gambit more than a bit of competition where you were concerned. Your attraction was never unrequited." Steed trailed off.

"You might have let me know. And, as for the age difference, Tara is my contemporary."

"Yes, and look how well that ended. I adore you Purdey, but I don't think that it was meant to be. Isn't it lovely that we can be still be good, good friends? No regrets, no guilt," Steed looked at her fondly and released her hand. "Anyway, you're equally attracted to Mike. You could smooth him out a bit."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Do you always have to be so sensible?"

"I think it comes with the job title." His ears perked as he picked up Emma's conversation.

"Steed told me you saved his life in Berlin? So, you were in the service as well?" Emma looked at St. Crispin.

"Yes. For a short time after the war. Cloak and dagger is much more Steed's style than mine. I'm far more suited to the mundane life of academia. The knife wounds are far more superficial, and rarely require actual stitches."

"Yes. I understand completely. University politics are usually large fights over small bones."

"Steed tells me you have a visiting Professorship at Oxford. What field? Which do you enjoy more, the research, or the actual teaching, Emma?"

"Microbiology. I think the actual teaching. The molding of young, impressionable minds."

"I'm sure your class is the hit of the male undergraduate population," Gambit interjected. Purdey rolled her eyes.

"Steed, did you ever tell Emma about how we made it back through Charlie Checkpoint dressed as two _Grossmutters? _

Steed grimaced. "As I remember, we didn't have the opportunity to be choosy in our choice of disguise."

"Like a Some Like it Hot scenario?" Gambit asked suddenly all ears and interest.

"Definitely not! Steed may have the ankles for it, but his shoulders were a disaster! And that butch walk."

"Well, we made it across. As for the walk, I had several aunties with the same affliction. It took me years to live that one down. Thanks, Michael," Steed said mildly.

"But while we're talking shop. Let me show you these tarot cards. They're from the twenties. I know you have an interest in old books and documents. Any ideas?"

"Aleister Crowley comes to mind. Actually, it's the Toth edition 1938 designed by Crowley himself. Hmm, the Hanged Man. It's a paradox. To be caught betwixt and between. There's water involved, the falling away of illusions. This, the Downed Tower-chaos, sudden change, impact. The power of a purifying fire that destroys the old and sweeps it away. Crowley, founded the Thelema Religion, or Philosophy, you know. Derivative of the Ordo Templi Orientis, and the Hellfire Club. Some have suggested that it's still prevalent at Cambridge. There was even a rumour Crowley worked for MI5 during the wars. Agent 666," Michael laughed mirthlessly. Steed and Emma exchanged looks.

"Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law."

"Well, that's a simplistic interpretation. It's from the Greek-to will, to wish, with purpose. Man as in control of his own destiny outside the confines of traditional morality and convention. Not necessarily hedonistic."

"I've always found religious zealots to be exceptionally unpleasant sorts. Even if they are of the black arts variety. You went to Cambridge. What do you know of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"

"They were ahead of me. Just the rumours, one hears as an undergraduate. They were a very tight, not terribly well liked clique. Expelled. I don't know why. I heard they had ties to the Ordo Templi Oreintis. I haven't thought of them in 28 years."

"They jointly comprise the ASTA Corp. I think they're planning a scorched earth policy of biblical proportions."

Everyone around the table reached for their drink at the same moment.

"Well, you certainly know how to put a damper on dinner. Once more into the breech... Do you need my help, Steed?"

"I appreciate the offer, Michael. I've got three of the best agents with me and troops on reserve. I hope to God it doesn't take more than that."

At that, the dinner party wound down a bit and Steed found him wishing that no matter how pleasant the company, that they would just go home. He got Emma alone in the kitchen for a moment just longing to reconnect. He kissed her gently over the pots, and rubbed her back for reassurance.

St. Crispin left first, looking at his watch.

Steed then cornered Gambit, "Meet me back here tomorrow at 10am."

"I was hoping to have a further talk with Mrs. Peel."

"Some other time, Gambit. I think we all need our rest." Steed gave Gambit a warning look.

Gambit was no one's fool and had no intention of butting heads with the older agent. Steed had a keen sense of humor, but he also had a flash point. At any rate, as far as Purdey was concerned, Steed was well out of the race and that gave Gambit a rare feeling of being one up.

"Alright. Purdey, I think it's time we make our way down the hill to the hotel."

"Are you fit to drive? Or do I need to take the keys? Thank, God we're leaving. First, you're drooling all over Steed's date..."

"Well, I think she's more than a date...."

"You're right about that. She's the Unholy Trinity. Even Steed can't keep her titles and names straight.."

"She seemed perfectly charming. I think you're jealous."

For a split second, Purdey thought he was talking about Steed and stopped short.

"According to Steed you're more St. Crispin's idea of a dream date than Emma."

"Now, you're just being mean, Purdey."

Steed waved off his guests from the doorstep. "Did you flirt enough with Gambit dear?

"Just reeling him in a bit. Purdey was looking a bit crushed though. I think she's rather fond of Mike Gambit. He's tall, good looking, well built. Very charming."

Steed who had sucked in his breath a bit, now breathed out slowly.

"I don't think Purdey will waste any time pining after you. She seems like such a well adjusted, nice girl."

"Now Emma, you know I've always found nice girls to be over-rated. Purdey and I are just good friends."

"Sometimes those are the best flirtations. They just spin on to infinity. And I'm not sure I appreciate your comment about nice girls. Anyway, we were going to test the limits of your virility before we were so rudely interrupted."

"I don't suppose you kept the whip," Steed said turning to Emma with a trace of a smile.

End Part II


	3. Part III

1 Ashes to Ashes III

"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,"

T.S. Eliot

Early Monday morning, Steed walked Emma to her car and opened the driver's side door.

"I believe it's customary for one's husband to give one a kiss in this situation."

"Darling, you're going to have to school me on these customs." he obediently leaned in for kiss and lingered longer than he intended; he then whispered in her ear to be careful.

"You're a fast study."

"So they say. See you at one. I'll bring you lunch. We'll eat on the grounds."

Emma spent the morning filling out paperwork at Eubury and meeting the staff. It was a very boring, uneventful start to her working day.

Gambit and Purdey met Steed as requested at 10am. Steed was in the kitchen pulling a quiche out of the oven.

"Purdey, would you please go out the garden and pick me a quick bouquet? I think some flowers would brighten the kitchen a bit."

"Of course, Steed." Purdey looked nonplused at the unusual request.

"Steed, you are becoming frighteningly domestic. Which reminds me, I've been dying to ask you since last night about that time you and escaped wearing those dresses? Was that idea yours, or his?"

"I suppose you find that funny, Gambit. I was barely ahead of the Stasi, when I crossed the border. I would have worn a grass skirt if that's what it took. And as for my cooking, maybe you should spend more time in the kitchen, Gambit. Women appreciate the effort of a man producing the occasional meal."

"Sorry, Steed, I think my talents lie elsewhere," Gambit said with a wicked smirk.

"Even the most dedicated Lothario must diversify his talents beyond the bedroom. Women need a certain amount of looking after. They like to be taken to nice dinners, escorted to cultural events. You have to woo them. Think of it as banking the fires. Take Purdey, for instance. She loves the ballet. Have you ever thought of getting tickets?"

"Well, taking Purdey is a pleasant thought, Steed, but I can't stand the opera, or the ballet."

"You're missing the point, Gambit. You would go with good grace because Purdey enjoys it. I can't tell you how many boring recitals, and society fetes that Emma has dragged me to. Look, I'm only trying to help. It would have saved a lot of years and heartache. I would have thought that you would figure these things out on your own. After all, I didn't have your advantages. "

Gambit looked at Steed incredulously. "My advantages?"

"Yes, advantages. I was packed off to public school at age five. I never even saw a girl except at holidays. And of those, I was either related to them, or they were on household staff. Then, on to the Royal Military Academy. By age twenty, I was commander of a small squad of equally under-age soldiers. Except for my firm grasp of manners and knowing which fork to use, I might very well have been raised by wolves! You grew up in a normal family. I'll bet there were even girls at your school."

"You make Eton sound more like Borstal."

"Yes, exactly except with an emphasis on the classics. I'm telling you all this assuming that you might actually want a future with Purdey?"

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Purdey broke in as she entered and began looking for vase while Steed and Gambit exchanged conspiratorial glances.

"No," Steed and Gambit said in tantrum.

"Have you two had breakfast? Steed went on. "Help yourself to quiche, or to juice and coffee. Then I need the London briefing."

Purdey poured herself a coffee and wondered how often the three of them would have moments like this in the future. The dynamic was already changing. Last night on the way back to the hotel, she and Gambit had been usually quiet with none of the playful banter that they used to fill the silences. She was genuinely happy for Steed. Isn't that how friends were? But change was an often difficult, cold thing. Purdey had enjoyed the attention of two very attractive partners. Even if she was not involved with either in a romantic sense, she had enjoyed off duty excursions with both men, and had flirted with both. Truthfully, she felt a little better since Steed had expressed his feelings, even if he was now strictly off limits. She supposed it was an ego thing, but somehow it did make things easier. She supposed she had a little father fixation with Steed. It was better that things were settled between them.

"Purdey, as much as I hate to break your reverie," Steed said, snapping his fingers, "the briefing."

Purdey looked up with a start. "Of course, Steed," Purdey said looking at him rather guiltily. "The Doomsday group is headed by Hugh Hennessy. I interviewed him for a non- existent newspaper article. He's an extremely good looking fellow, tall, piercing blue- green eyes."

If Steed and Gambit were inclined to eye rolling, they could have done it as well as any thirteen year old girl. However, they both just looked on with an air of detached amusement.

Purdey oblivious went on "charismatic, well connected, and mad as the proverbial hatter. He was once accused of sexual battery. Apparently, he was picking up prostitutes at Shepard's Bush and flogging them to purge them of their sins. No actual charges were ever filed. He's the younger brother of the Earl of Aberfeldy so the whole thing was hushed up. He has a following of about 100 or so hardcore fanatics, consisting, interestingly enough, of mostly middle-aged women. That is, until recently, when there was an influx of military rejects. One term enlistees, and cashiered officers swelling the membership rolls. There must be 150 of them. There is no direct money connection between Hugh's group and the ASTA, but there is an indirect connection according to the forensic accountants. The money is wired offshore then cleaned through several accounts and then laundered back to the Doomsday group."

"How much money are we talking about?"

"450,000 pounds. And as to what they're doing with it, I could only hazard a guess..."

Steed interrupted, "I know exactly what they're doing, making payroll for the troops, and buying weapons. I'll bet they've been bringing in the weapons piece meal with the tea imports at Thistle. I saw six cases of rifles at Eubury. According to intelligence, those rifles were delivered to Hennessy's estate. What I need to know, is how many bags of fertilizer are unaccounted for. I'll have Emma check the manufacturing books. I think they have amassed enough nitrate and sulfate to level at least three city blocks in London. But what I can't figure out is why. Why blow up your own factory? If it's about the money- and make no mistake about it, it's always about the money- what do they gain? What are we missing here? If you take a torch to everything, what do you have left? In an apocalypse, what are the commodities?"

"Gold? Troops?"

"No, Gambit. It's more basic than that. The populace first and foremost needs water, and food. If you control that, you control everything. It's more basic than oil. What assets does ASTA have in the way of water, or food? We're not going to live on chamomile tea or figgy breakfast bars. We need to dig a little deeper. And why direct us here with warnings? It makes no sense."

"Unless it's a classic misdirect."

"I think that's it exactly, Gambit. You two go back to London. Go see Mother. Gambit, maybe you should infiltrate the Doomsday Group. We need an inside man. Emma and I will continue to poke around here. "

Steed arrived early for lunch and filled Emma in on the earlier conversation.

"Would you like more wine?"

"Tempting, but I don't think I should go back tipsy."

"You should have another. It's not as though you're going to have a career with Eubury."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call Mother."

When Steed got back to the cottage, he paced around a bit before straightening his shoulders and

picking up the phone. He hesitated briefly before dialing the number. "Tara. This is Steed."

"Yes. Do you think I've forgotten your voice?" Tara said sounding strained and weary.

"I don't know what I'm thinking these days. I'm sure I sound ridiculous. Is there anyway the three of you could get out of London for the next few weeks? It doesn't matter where you go, as long as you're out of London. You're a clever girl, get Teddy to take you on holiday."

"Let me guess. National Security and you can't tell me anything more?"

"Would I bother you with this otherwise?"

"No, I suppose not," Tara sighed heavily. "Promise me that you'll take care of yourself."

"I promise, Tara." Steed paused awkwardly, " If you ever need anything..."

"I know I can always call on you. It means everything. Thank you, Steed." Tara disconnected. Steed listened for a moment to the dial tone. He then shook his head and called Mother.

When Emma didn't show up by five, Steed began to pace the floor. Emma drove up at 6pm and Steed met her as she switched off her engine. He wordlessly took the bag of groceries from her arms and followed her into the cottage.

"You're uncharacteristically quiet this evening."

"I was beginning to get worried." Steed poured them both a glass of wine. "I was expecting you by 5pm."

"I stopped to pick up some fresh oysters. You know, for Oysters Rockefeller. I thought I'd make dinner for a change."

"Kind of you, but I still wished you had called to let me know. I think my nerves are a bit shot. I don't suppose you were able to get a peek at the books? No, never mind, everything will wait until tomorrow."

He took Emma by the shoulders and slowly began to kiss her. "I don't care about dinner. I don't care about the books. I've been thinking of you all day, thinking about us. How would you like to be buried with my people?" Steed began to trail kisses down her throat and into the hollows of her neck. He then began to unbutton her blouse.

"Not the most romantic proposal a girl could imagine."

"I know, but it's traditional. Some of my ancestors were Scots . You know what a practical, dour bunch they are."

"Don't you think we'd be more comfortable upstairs?" Emma said somewhat breathlessly as Steed lifted her onto the kitchen counter.

"As always, your pleasure is mine, Mrs. Peel." With that, Steed picked her up and carried her up the stairs.

Emma lay on her side with her right leg curled over Steed's mid-section. She propped herself on one elbow and trailed her index finger along Steed's chest to his lower stomach.

"Is that where Chilticott shot you?" Emma gently kissed Steed's left clavicle. "It didn't leave much of a scar. For all your years of long service, you're relatively unscathed."

"Physically, yes. I've learned to ask for better doctors. Better plastic surgeons. It doesn't look like much but it makes my shoulder ache like the devil. "

"This one's new."

"Yes, all acquired during service to Queen and Country."

"What about this small puncture looking wound on your upper thigh?

"What that small one? Oh, a jealous boyfriend ran me through with a steak knife. A bit of luck there. I think he was aiming a bit higher. I'm kidding, it's a bullet wound. It doesn't show in tennis shorts. I limped away from that one, but the other fellow died of lead poisoning. I would never use a 22 caliber myself, it's just not efficient and it makes the people you shoot extremely angry."

Steed finally opened his eyes and stared intently into her eyes. "Is there anything else, I can do for you?" He raised his eyebrows slightly.

"No, darling. I am completely, blissfully, sated," Emma gave an elegant stretch. "I just sometimes wish I still smoked," Emma said wistfully.

"Good. I'm glad you're sated, because I'm exhausted. I was beginning to think there really is no rest for the wicked. You could, however, if you miss smoking that much, light one of my cigars. I, however, just want a bit of well-earned rest."

By way of reply, Emma plucked out one chest hair.

"Ow! Mrs. Peel! You could at least make sure you pluck out only the grey ones."

"I don't really see that many grey hairs, Steed. And I thought you were trained to withstand pain."

"I was. I am. But I can assure you the KGB never plucked out my chest hair. As for the grey, I'm sure they'll be more. Perhaps by morning," Steed said wearily.

"You know that day you called me from Paris? About the article in the paper about the rapidly aging Russian soldiers?" She saw Steed give an almost imperceptible nod. "When I told you I was divorced, and you told me that I would always Mrs. Peel to you. It sounded...I thought you meant that you could never see me as anything other than Peter's wife. I thought you were being cruel." Emma laid her head on Steed's shoulder.

Steed's eyes flicked open. "Why on earth would you think that? I only meant that you were my Mrs. Peel. It didn't matter what name you called yourself. I was always going to remember you as mine. I would never intentionally hurt you. I was hoping you might call me one day. We could fix everything and you could change your name to Steed."

"I've just gotten used to being Emma Knight again. The letter head is printed."

"The letterhead, well, in that case...," Steed said sarcastically. "I think of myself as open minded, even liberal gentleman, but some things are important to me..." Steed went quiet and began to drum his fingers on his rib cage and Emma could see he was trying to gain the upper hand on his temper. "You make everything so difficult. It's a marriage, not a business merger," he sighed heavily. "If we have children, it complicates things. You took Peter's name. I'd like to think you loved me enough to do the same."

"I didn't know you felt that strongly one way, or another," Emma said simply. "Maybe it could be Knight-Steed?"

"Won't it sound as if we're holding Chess Seminars? Alright," Steed had begun to regain some of his good humor back, "any children will, of course carry my last name. And no, that is not up for debate."

"Of course," Emma mollified. Any further discussion was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

"Steed, here. Yes, Purdey," Steed sat up on the side of the bed. "Thistle owns controlling shares of Granada, the Agribusiness Company? That's our connection then. They've been speculating on seed futures and gene banks? Well, there's our food source. But, where's the water? The water link is vital. Call me back when you have the second part of the equation. We're still missing something."

Steed turned back to Emma and cuddled her close. "Darling, tell me everything you know about the Global Crop Diversity Trust and the Doomsday Seed Vault."

"Steed, you do have the sweetest pillow talk. Well, this is an industry in its infancy. Some of this is just in the planning stages. Essentially it's a bank of the world's supply of plant seeds. You know, orthodox seeds, recalcitrant seeds. An insurance policy if you will, of every genotype. It's not really my field, but Granada has come out with a Terminator seed, a genetically altered seed that does not reproduce. It doesn't self- propagate; therefore, you always need to buy seed. Granada is very proprietary and very litigious. They've been at the forefront of biotech, you know, they also invented DDT and Agent Orange."

"There's your wonderful biochemistry put to practical use. Seeds. You need water to grow seeds. How do you control the world's water supply? Theoretically? What if you taint the fresh water supply?"

"Hmm. The largest source of water would be from the sea. But it's not potable. Saudi Arabia has the largest desalinization plant in the world due to necessity. Reverse osmosis, distillation, the membrane process. They're all very labor and energy intensive; therefore, almost prohibitively expensive. Of course, recently, there has been speculation about nuclear driven desalinization..."

"Dungeness," they said in unison.

"Let me call Purdey back." After promising to look into what machinery would be needed to effectively retool the nuclear plant to a desalinization plant and the whether any such purchases had been made by the ASTA Corp, Purdey rang off.

"I think I need to take a look around Dungeness tonight. Have you ever seen the plant at night? The shale just shines. It's quite spectacular when the moon glitters off it." Steed got up to dress.

"Don't you want me to come with you?"

"No. I want you to keep my dinner and my bed warm,"

"I love it when you talk sexist," Emma said in an amused tone, refusing to let Steed perturb her mood.

"Yes, darling," he mumbled as he bent down to put on his shoes. He waited till Emma's back was turned before taking his gun out of the night stand.

"I'm going as a nuclear inspector. I had the ID made before I left London. It should be a straight walk in situation. All I need is a dirty mac and a bad tie. Do I look the engineer type?" Steed offered himself for inspection.

"You look wonderful. That bad tie brings out your pretty blue eyes. Do you know what you're looking for?"

"Just anything out of the ordinary. And, my eyes are grey."

"Only when you're cool. They change, darling, according to what shade you're wearing. Sometimes, according to your mood. And take the gun out of your pants, Steed. Maybe you should carry a snub nose. All I can think of are vaudeville jokes."

Just as Steed predicted, Dungeness was a straight walk in, flash the ID and no one was the wiser. What _was_ unexpected was the stark beauty of the landscape and the green twinkling lights of the power station like stars that had fallen to ground. The night crew was skeletal, with just enough manpower to keep the station operating at minimum power through the night. The workers were used to unannounced visits and inspections, and Steed allowed himself to be led around on tour, looking for any bright shiny new equipment, or locked doors. The plant was vast. He loitered in the break room drinking bad coffee and chatting with the workers. The head engineer was very informative and immediately attached himself to Steed.

"Any new repairs, that I need to inspect?"

"There is a new intake and release on the pumping substation," one of the workers volunteered.

"Well, let's have a look see, shall we?"

Steed and the engineer clattered back up the iron stairways and out to the pumping station.

"You know you seem like a pleasant enough chap. I was hoping you weren't going to ask to see this." The gentleman pulled out a small revolver from his pocket and aimed it in the general direction of Steed's back.

Steed, who had been leaning over the rails, turned slowly and raised his Walther. "I believe this is called 'snap'. I'll bet I'm a better shot. And look, my gun is bigger. And it's a semi- automatic."'

"You're not really a nuclear inspector are you?"

Steed shook his head regretfully. "I take it you're not really the engineer for Dungeness either? It looks like we're both here under false pretences. I'll tell you who I am, if you tell me who you are," he said conspiratorially. "You go first because you haven't even cocked back the hammer. I don't think you're taking your job seriously."

The gentlemen blinked rapidly, "I'm MI5. How do you know I didn't cock the hammer?"

"Two sounds you never forget is the sound of a knife clicking open or of a hammer of being cocked back. It's the kind of sound that makes time stand still. Why don't you just take some ID out of your wallet and kick it over here to me?"

The sandy haired fellow signed deeply, "I don't keep my ID in my wallet. I keep it in my pants."

"Right. Let's have a look."

"I'm going to have to reach down in the front of my pants."

Steed lifted his eyebrows. "Do what you have to do, but get on with it. My trigger finger is cramping."

The gentleman reached down and pulled the card out of his groin area, dropped it to the ground and dutifully kicked it over to Steed.

Steed looked from the card to the gentleman and back again, "I'm not picking it up." Steed squinted down at the card. "It says here your name is Harris Hall. Not a flattering photo at all." Steed kicked back the card.

"You didn't say who you were."

"That's right I didn't." Steed abruptly lowered his gun. "I'm John Steed. I'm with the Ministry. No one told me MI5 was in on this."

"_The_ John Steed? Well, MI5 didn't mention you either. We've been on this for the last four months. You might think there would be a little better communication between the branches."

"Wouldn't it be nice to think so. What do you know about desalination?"

"They've been putting the equipment for at least the last four months. They're almost ready to go on line. We've been trying to link ASTA to this. We've got the underlings nailed. We want the top men."

"Yes. Bell, Walker, Dewar, and Teacher. What about Eubury?"

"That's a big Roman Candle."

"What about the ammonium sulfate and the nitrates?"

"They've been shipping it up to London for the two weeks."

"Doesn't anyone find that alarming? I don't know why I'm chasing my tail down here. I should be back in London with Hugh Hennessy. What does your agency know about him?"

"Doomsday is on the peripheral. MI5 has classified them as low risk. We're watching. That's all."

"Low risk! They've got an army of 150, and a mini- arsenal. I saw six cases of rifles that were delivered up there. I'm sure that's the tip of the iceberg. ASTA has been funneling them major money. You talk to your people. I'm definitely going to be talking to mine."

Steed met Emma as she was leaving the cottage.

"Where are you going?"

"I was going to look for you."

"I thought we'd agree you'd stay here?"

"I began to get worried about you. What you said about the shale was nagging at me. Sean Mortimer had shale in his shoes when he was found dead in the stream. I'm sure if it had been tested, it would have been a direct match to the shale at Dungeness."

"So more than likely he was killed at Dungeness and then transported. Would you believe I ran into MI5 at the plant? Their agent pulled a gun on me! It's ridiculous how close mouthed these two agencies are. How stingy they are with information. I'm calling Mother. I think you'd better pack, because we're going back to London. Is there any dinner? I'm starving."

"If he was killed at Dungeness, wouldn't he have had sea water in his lungs?"

"Well, unless they got creative. They do have access to fresh water at the plant."

"Perhaps. And no, I didn't cook dinner."

"Well, it's just as well you're quitting your job at Eubury. A man can't even get a hot meal."

"I'm going to pull a gun on you next, Steed."

Steed threw an arm over Emma's shoulders and hugged her tightly. "I wish we didn't have to go back. Just think of this as a quiet weekend at the shore. Soon you'll be back running your business empire and sleeping in your own bed."

"You have an interesting way of defining no demands. We're on the brink of a possible apocalypse. And just the two of us? Really, characters have been in and out of here like a stage play. It's been like human trafficking. I would give serious consideration to your definition of a quiet weekend at the shore. And about dinner, I' m sure I can scrounge you something from the fridge."

"Of course I know what time it is!" Emma heard Steed's exasperated voice from the living room exclaim.

Steed spent 30 minutes on the phone with Mother with elevated voice arguing back and forth before it was decided that they would return to London the next day. Mother agreed to a forced consortium with MI5 and a complete disclosure meeting.

When Steed entered the kitchen, he found Emma removing the oysters from the oven.

"How was Mother?"

"Like a rattlesnake on amphetamines. I got a real ear pounding. I hate how the politics of the office leaves the field agents to hang and twist in the wind."

"When you're Bureau Chief, you can rectify that."

"I'm not even sure I want the job. Are there any openings at Knight Industries?

"I'm not sure. What are your qualifications?" Emma embraced Steed from behind and bit his left earlobe. "And skills?" she breathed in his ear.

"Emma, I'm afraid you've seen all my skills."

"All of them?"

"Well, I might have one or two, I've been saving..." Steed said with a slight smile.

"In that case, you really should eat your oysters."

In the morning, Emma and Steed drove their separate cars back to London. After the meeting with MI5, Mother coordinated with Major General Stephens to have the HQ London District Horse Guards on notice and an alert went out to Scotland Yard.

Steed had driven to Emma's apartment after the meeting. They lingered for brunch before packing her a few things under the pretext that Steed's Wiltshire home was closer to Hennessy's Glendronach Estate, not to mention it was further away from ground zero for the presumed strike.

Emma enjoyed the hour drive from London. She allowed Steed to drive since she felt he was already under sufficient strain. At last they pulled off to Steed's impressive driveway. She had to admit he had picked a beautiful piece of property to locate his Stud Farm. All bucolic charm displayed with all of nature's finery in the fresh spring sunshine. The house was a large white Georgian with circular drive.

Steed got out of the Range Rover and collected Emma's bags, and the housekeeper came out to greet them at the front steps.

"Hello, Mrs. O'Connor. This is Dr. Emma Knight. She'll being staying for a while. Is the front guest room ready?"

"Oh aye, Mr. Steed," Mrs. O'Connor said in her thick brogue. She hadn't actually managed to even look in Emma's direction. Emma supposed she thought she was one of many in a long line of Steed's fancy women.

Steed must have been thinking the same thing because he then stated abruptly, "We're engaged to be married."

The effect was galvanizing; Mrs. O'Connor snapped her head back and actually looked at Emma for the first time. Her gaze swept Emma from head to toe, then came back to rest prominently on her mid-section. Her mouth closed with an almost audible click.

"Here dear, let me get that," Mrs. O'Connor said while simultaneously reaching for Emma's makeup case.

Steed intercepted the case from the older woman "Now Mrs. O' Connor there's no need for you to carry that."

"Then I'll just nip up and freshen up the guest room." Mrs. O'Connor said smiling broadly and showing off her sweet blue eyes.

"Where's Beau?" Steed said expectantly.

"I'm sure he heard the car and will be along any minute now. He's been up at the stables all day. I haven't seen him since breakfast." Mrs. O'Connor turned to go in the house.

"Never mind, here he comes now," Steed turned and whistled. A huge Weimaraner came bounding across the grounds and skidded to a stop at Steed's legs. Steed bent over and rubbed the dog briskly about the head and shoulders.

"Good lord, Steed. He looks like he needs a saddle."

"He is a good size isn't he? You wouldn't recognize him from when I found him winter before last, nearly starved to death. I was riding in the upper woods when I found him with his hindquarters full of buckshot. I brought him back to the house, the stables were too cold. Made him some chicken broth laced with antibiotics and dressed his wounds. I didn't know if he'd live through the night. But we're too tough for a bit of lead, aren't we boy? I picked buckshot out of him for a week. On the seventh day he made if all the way up the stairs and slept outside my bedroom door. He's been at my feet ever since. Never did find his owner. But he is a handsome beast, isn't he?"

Emma looked from the big sleek, grey ghost dog with the grayish blue eyes and then back to Steed and nodded." She leaned over to pet the dog, "Steed, it says on his collar 'Boris'."

"Yes, I know. But I ask you, what self-respecting Englishman can have a dog named Boris? I call him Beau after Beau Brummell."

"Of course you do."

After giving Emma a brief tour of the house and grounds, Steed and Emma settled in the library for tea.

"Here you go dear," Mrs. O'Connor said placing a bit of apple crumble in front of Emma. " I usually don't keep any sweets in the house. You know, Mr. Steed works so hard to keep the weight off. I brought you a nice big glass of milk and there is clotted Devonshire cream for your tea." The housekeeper placed the tray down in front of Emma and smiled delightedly at her.

"Ah, thank you Mrs. O'Connor," Steed said. He watched her leave with a perplexed look on his face. "She usually not so accommodating. I think you've completely won her over my dear."

"Didn't you see the way she looked at me after you announced we're getting married? She thinks you've gotten me in the club."

"And what club might that be? Oh. I see. Surely not, Mrs. Peel," Steed frowned to himself.

"And by the way, it's a bit disconcerting the way you keep blurting out that we're getting married. It almost seems like a defensive reflex and I haven't even had a proper proposal."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course, you do. You didn't want your housekeeper to think I was another of your conquests down for the weekend. Steed, you really must have some of this crumble, it really is quite delicious."

"Mrs. O'Connor was right," Steed signed. "It will only mean more time on the treadmill later. And I resent the implication that I date loose women. I'll have you know most the women I've dated aren't loose at all, but are firmly manacled to some unfortunate fellow."

"I'm sure you must think I find that amusing. As for the crumble, if you're good, I'll help you work it off later." Emma turned her fork over and licked it suggestively.

Steed shook his head ruefully, "You're as wicked as they come, my dear."

"You've never complained before."

"No, and why would I? I love you, Emma."

Emma walked over and sat on Steed's lap. She snuggled her head into his shoulder as she breathed in his cologne. She sat there cocooned in Steed's warmth, and lulled as if hypnotized, by the slow ticking of the Grandfather clock. She could almost feel Steed's blood coursing through his veins. "I don't remember a time when I felt such complete and utter contentment. I feel so safe and secure in your arms. Wouldn't it be nice if we could stop time and this minute could last for eternity?"

In reply, Steed kissed her gently without artifice, and without heat. Finally, Steed broke the kiss, "I told you I'd offer you a proper proposal. I can't think of a more appropriate time than now, even though it's not on bended knee. Emma, I'm madly in love with you. If you will marry me, I'll never give you cause to regret it."

"I was beginning to think you'd never ask. Yes," Emma breathed slightly in his ear. "I love you to the point of distraction."

"I'll carry you upstairs."

Steed carried Emma up to the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. "You know I had never really noticed how many steps there are." He bent to remove her shoes.

Emma smiled. "You were magnificent darling, as usual."

"That second landing gave me pause for thought. It made me extremely grateful you hadn't elected to finish that last bit of crumble," Steed said lightly, but Emma was already asleep. He stood there torn, wondering whether to join her or go down to straighten out Mrs. O'Connor. He elected to strip off and join Emma. To hell with what anyone thought. He was tired and honestly, he hadn't fully recovered from the physical punishment of his gunshot wound. He had felt a little winded on the stairs. He supposed it was just the relentless onset of age. You could slow it down, but you couldn't stop it.

Gambit had been loitering at the Royal British Legion Hall on the pretext of getting a handout, or a job for three days.

"Why do I get all the glamorous assignments?"

"Well, if you could perform the Pas de Chat as well as Purdey, you would have more flexibility in the field." Steed and Gambit both took a moment to ponder all the possible implications of 'flexibility'. "Anyway, our skills as ex-soldiers may be a little more mundane, but it's exactly what the situation calls for. Unfortunately, I'm a little past retirement age."

"Not mandatory retirement age," Gambit's eyes glittered evilly.

"Well, technically that's true. However, in this case it hardly seems necessary for both of us to go. Unless, of course, you feel you need back up."

"Oh, yes, I think I definitely need back up. Hugh Hennessy is a nutter. A nutter with 150 ex-soldiers on payroll. I think two would go a long way in evening up the numbers a tad . As you always say, teamwork is essential, as it gives the enemy someone else to shoot at."

"Alright, Gambit, we'll both go," Steed said with a slight smile. "At least neither of us will have to shave for a bit."

"Maybe, I can go as a Major this time and you could be enlisted."

"Let's not push it Gambit. I can't possibly live off enlisted pay. I'll see your Major and raise you a Colonel."

Three days later they were both down in Hugh Hennessy's Estate basement mapping out defensive positions.

"Who knew all that childhood play with toy soldiers would actually come in handy? I say we put six on the roof, with intersecting fields of fire."

"You do know, we're not actually supposed to help them."

"Don't worry old sport, I've got our extraction point."

"And where might that be."

"Why, the back door of course."

Hugh had called a muster for 6pm. He was in rare form and had a rallying speech for the troops:

"Men this is a glorious thing that we are called upon to do. Some men are looking for something to live for, but what far greater imagination it takes to find something to die for. We'll do this for England boys. By the time we've finished controlling all the water, and all the food sources, those Arabs will forced to eat their oil. No longer will we be dependent on fossil fuels supplied by those who loathe us and wish to destroy our way of life. This is an epic struggle, one that we can't afford to lose. With God behind us, each and every one will be amply rewarded in this life and the next. But we must defeat those infidels! Britain will lick no one's boots!"

"Well, what did you think of the speech?" Gambit whispered to Steed as they left the basement.

"Well, I was hoping for something more in a Henry the V vein, but I give full marks for originality. And it was mercifully brief. Churchill made much better speeches, but then he was sane. You know, I've got a few shares in wells on Saudi land for services rendered. I don't want to appear self-interested, but we really need to throw a net around him. Let's go out to the stables and see if those lorries are still loaded with fertilizer."

Gambit and Steed prowled through the stables taking inventory.

Steed leaned over a small tank but couldn't make out the label in the gloom. "Here,' Steed called out to Gambit quietly, "see if you can you make out the writing."

Gambit crouched and pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it before Steed could object.

About the time their eyes focused on the label, JP-4. Gambit had quickly flicked closed his lighter and Steed was hauling them backwards. Gambit was momentarily engulfed in a vapor flame and Steed was sitting on him beating off the flames with his hands. Steed rolled off Gambit and the two men stared at each other incredulously.

"Good Lord, Gambit. Your eyebrows are almost singed off. Are you alright?"

"I think so. You?"

"Apparently sound. You look like you've got a sunburn. You never light a flame in a barn, man!"

"I couldn't read the label in the dark!"

"There's three lorries of ammonium sulfate and nitrate in this barn!"

"Yes, and they're stable without an accelerate!"

"That would be the JP-4!"

"No. Really?"

Steed started to laugh. He sat up, "here, help me up. No, not the hands. They're burned. Grab my elbow. And remind me to buy you an electric torch."

"Is it bad?"

"No. It hurt worse when Emma was pulling out chest hairs the other night."

"What?"

"Oh, never mind."

"You're not going to mention this are you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. Did I ever tell you about the time I lit a cigar at the munitions dump? I almost got myself cashiered over that. But that last bit you did, nearly made Guy Fawkes Day look like sparklers at a garden fete. "

"Your hands need looking after."

I'm sure they don't look much worse than your face. Purdey's going to hate you burned your lovely eyelashes. It does tend to detract from your eyes a bit."

Gambit snorted, "I would think you have more important things to worry about then what Purdey thinks of my eyes. I think Mrs. Peel has you wrapped up tight. You're going to marry her, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm going to run this bureau, or leave it. If I run it, then you're going to be my right hand man, Mike. I hope I do a damn sight better job than the current administration."

"Amen to that." Gambit had more than one occasion to be grateful for Steed's instincts and quick reflexes. But then, he too had saved Steed's hide more times than he cared to count. Gambit began to whistle tunelessly.

Mrs. Peel was glaring at him in the foyer of Steed's country house. "Mike Gambit, how dare you bring him back in that shape!" She looked from Gambit to Steed. "You both need silver sulfadiazine creme. Steed's hands look the worst. Purdey you can handle them both. I have a transatlantic conference for Knight Industries. I'll need half an hour on your phone undisturbed. I don't even want to know what happened." With that Emma left with a resounding slam of a heavy oak door.

Steed winced. "Purdey, will you be a dear and fetch me a large whiskey and lime?" He looked at his hands. "And perhaps a straw. Oh, and the first aid kit is in the downstairs bath, on the second shelf of the linen closet. What will you have, Gambit?"

"The same." Gambit looked sheepish.

Purdey dutifully came back with the glasses.

"Purdey, this is a water glass. I hate to be a purist, but whiskey does belong in a whiskey glass."

Yes. I know Steed, but I've filled it to the top with ice and a little lime. Make it last."

Steed took it in his best hand. "Do Gambit first, he looks like he fell asleep under one of those sun lamps."

"Yes, except for those singed eyebrows and eyelashes." Purdey looked at Gambit with a frown.

"I told him you would be unhappy about that."

Purdey put the first aid creme on Gambit's face and neck and he went to freshen up in the guest bath. Purdey then perched on the coffee table as she anointed Steed's hands. "Are you sure you want this?"

Steed looked at her quizzically.

"Mrs., I mean Dr. Knight, um Emma, is not exactly happy right now."

"Yes, well at least it was an interior door she slammed, and not an exterior door," Steed said stoically.

"Still, It seemed rather cold, the way she treated you," Purdey busied herself applying the ointment, avoiding Steed's eyes.

"Purdey, Emma is far from cold."

"Is this what's it's about? The sex?" Purdey said earnestly as if trying to put together a puzzle.

"Yes, well, I wasn't talking about sex, Purdey. You young ladies ask the most embarrassing questions. It's the second time in the last two weeks one of you has given me cause to blush. I don't half wonder if you're not doing some sort of updated Kinsey Report! Emma is frightened for me. She gets angry with me for what she perceives as unnecessary risk taking. Underneath that facade, is a very vulnerable and sensitive young woman. She lost both parents at a young age, and was supposedly widowed at a young age. You of all people should be able to identify with that. She shuts down emotionally. It's just a coping mechanism. Would it help if I told you we are completely besotted with one another?"

"Maybe, I care for you and want the best for you. If she loves you completely, she must have redeeming qualities and I promise to give her a chance. For your sake."

"Believe me when I say I want the best for you."

"I hate change."

"As do I. But it's inevitable. I can't stay out in the field any longer. I'm slowing up."

"No."

"Yes. I don't want to be the one responsible if, one day, Gambit, or any other agent, doesn't come home because I was so vain I couldn't walk away. No one should die because I was half a step behind. I couldn't live with myself. Better to leave at the top of my game."

"Are you going to marry her?"

"What do the odds makers say at the Ministry?"

"Hmm, for which pool, the one whether you're going to marry Mrs. Peel, or the pool on who shot you?

"There's a pool on who shot me. Why you never," Steed took a long pull off his whiskey.

"A who shot J.S. mystery. Who is the odds on favorite? I thought they believed I had shot myself," Steed half mused to himself.

"Well, you were the one pushing that angle, but no one was buying it. Everyone who has seen you with Tara knows that you were fond of her, but she was mad, keen on you. The consensus is that Tara shot you. Besides, you're not the suicidal type."

"Tara would never hurt me. We're both still very fond of each other. I spoke to her the other night."

"I wouldn't mention that little gem to Mrs. Peel."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Some things are on a strictly need to know basis. Of course, after we're married, I'll tell her everything. Only a fool lies to his doctor, his lawyer, or his wife."

"Well, for now you can certainly confide in me. Now, how about you tell me who shot you and we'll split the pool?"

Steed leaned forward. "If I tell you that I'm afraid I'll lose my mystique. I can't tell you, it doesn't matter how long you stare at me with those beautiful, big blue eyes. We're friends Purdey, nothing will ever change that. We'll always have this twinkle even after you've married Mike Gambit and had your five children and your scruffy dog."

When Gambit came back into the room Purdey and Steed were still staring into one another's eyes and smiling as if they shared a secret.

"Are you two done here? I'm talking to you, Steed." Emma had re-entered the room and was standing with arms akimbo.

Purdey went to sit in a club chair far enough away to be discreet.

"Absolutely, Emma, I'm completely at your disposal," Steed murmured, leaning back on the sofa.

"Fat lot of good you're going to do me, with two burned hands and a bad shoulder," Emma said under her breath as she dropped on the sofa beside him, but only Steed was close enough to catch it.

"I'm sure you underestimate me, darling," Steed drawled languidly.

Emma laughed aloud. She then kissed Steed gently as she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. She then turned her attention to Purdey and Gambit "Thank you for looking after him, Purdey. I fear I've been a little rude to both of you. I'm a little rusty with dealing with diabolical masterminds. Steed has the uncanny ability to irritate me into a frenzy. But since I'm in love with him I shall have to learn to adapt. This whole situation is a little overwhelming. I hope you will forgive me and we all can be friends?" Emma gave them all a tight smile.

In reply, Gambit raised his glass to her, smiling gently.

"Well, I for one think it would be wonderful to have another woman around." Purdey affected a conspiratorial tone "To tell you the truth, they can be a little overwhelming together. They're both dreadful complainers and have never really pulled their weight with the kitchen duties. And, I'm always playing nursemaid. On the plus side, they do tend to pick up the bar bill."

"Yes, men. They do have their uses." Emma smiled. "How did you say this accident happened?"

"Actually, they didn't say." Purdey realized.

Steed cleared his voice, "yes, well. There was this flamethrower, and it had a vapor lock, then it abruptly backfired a bit..."

All three of his partners stared at Steed blankly.

"Had I known you were going to prevaricate, I wouldn't have bothered to ask. Why don't you two stay for dinner? I'm sure Steed has a chop, or two in the freezer. I'll cook," Emma said coolly.

"I'll help, Mrs. Peel."

"Please call me Emma, Purdey."

Alliances were formed and imaginary slights were forgotten. Gambit looked at Steed, as soft murmurs and peals of laughter came from the other room.

"Does that make you in the slightest bit nervous?" Gambit inclined his head towards the kitchen.

"Why should it? They don't have anything to talk about."

"Really, nothing? What about those dates that you and Purdey had?" Gambit had a smile on his face, but Steed could see a deeper question in his eye."

"They weren't dates. I took Purdey to the occasional dinner, sometimes a show she wanted to see. Why don't you and I go out to the terrace and have a cigar?"

Steed and Gambit sat on the low stone wall with their drinks between them.

"Here, Gambit, you irrepressible pyromaniac, give us a light." Steed leaned forward with his cigar and laughed low in his throat.

"You rather shocked me this evening." Gambit lit his and Steed's cigar and watched the other agent's eyebrows go up questioningly in the glow. "That was some of the worst lying I've ever witnessed. It gave me pause to wonder how you ever became the best undercover man in the business. More, importantly, how are you ever going to get away with anything with Mrs. Peel? You know, she's going to pry it out of you later."

"I'm sure I'll think of something to distract her," Steed said smoothly. "And about Purdey, a gentleman would neither ask, nor tell. But since you asked, and as it appears to be important to you, alas no."

Something in Gambit that he didn't know was tensed, relaxed. The silence was broken by a sharp whinny from the darkness. Steed and Gambit sat companionably in the darkness puffing gently on their cigars.

Steed finally spoke again, "I acquired a new mare last week. She's a complete thoroughbred, gorgeous, but high strung and a little skittish. The best one's always take a little special handling. A little more patience..."

"I don't think Purdey would appreciate you comparing her to a horse."

"Subtlety is completely wasted on you, my boy," Steed shook his head ruefully. "Play your cards right. Learn from my mistakes, and we could both be very lucky men," Steed turned his head to observe Emma and Purdey visible in the light of the kitchen as they prepared dinner. Gambit followed Steed's gaze and they both lost themselves in their smoky dreams of the future.

Dinner was served cozily around the kitchen table, later, the four adjourned to back to the living room.

"The plan is to have HQ London District surround and contain Hennessy's estate, and pick up any troops in place in London. They'll detain the lot at RAF Hamelin pending trials. As for the Four Horsemen, apparently they have enough evidence to press charges. All we have to do

is monitor the situation and try to remain inconspicuous .It will interesting to see if any of the four principles actually makes an appearance. Gambit, you and I have an early morning back at Glendronach Estate, it might be easier if you both stay the night pick any guest room. But my shoulder is aching and I'll think I'll go up and have a hot bath."

Emma sat up talking to the two agents for a discrete interval before following Steed upstairs.

Gambit broke the silence. "You know it's rather, I was going to say touching, how they can't seem to keep their hands off one another. I don't know that I've ever seen Steed behave that way around any other woman."

"Yes. It is rather sickening isn't it?" Purdey and Gambit both laughed.

"Purdey, I was wondering if you'd like to see the Borshoi Ballet? I see they're in town next week. I could get tickets."

"I thought you hated the ballet!"

"No, I don't hate it I've just never been properly introduced. I'm sure you could teach me to appreciate it properly. How did you get on with Mrs. Peel?"

"She was actually quite likable. She has a wry, naughty sense of humour. I think that she and Steed have a lot in common. Gambit, Steed said he was going to retire from the field."

"I know. I know."

Emma walked into Steed's master bath. "This is nice." She indicated the large whirlpool bath that Steed occupied, "It's huge."

"Yes, big enough for two. It's almost an occupational necessity. Nothing soothes inflamed tendons and muscles like hot water and massaging jets. The horse riding jangles my joints as well. My knees are getting creaky. You're going to be marrying a relic."

Emma shook her head, "I'm going to be marrying my handsome, mature knight in shining armor. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Madam, you can lash me with Hugh Hennessy's whip if I were mad enough to object."

Emma dropped her clothes to the floor and sat at the opposite end of the tub. "You've got that pensive look on your face. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking of how old I'm going to be when our children are of age. I wonder if I'm being selfish, wanting this. Maybe you'd be better off with a younger man."

"I see. The problem there is that I'm not in love with a younger man. I'm in love with you. What difference do a few years make? You're in better shape than most men half your age. I'd rather have thirty-something good years with you than fifty with someone else."

"I think thirty may be overly optimistic. That would make me eight-one."

"Well, your aunts are well into their nineties."

"In that case, this could be a bigger commitment than either of us initially realized. Do you think we should reconsider?" Upon hearing this, Emma flicked her right hand and liberally splashed Steed with bath water.

"Seriously. What if I'm in my dotage?"

"I don't know, Steed. I've learned to live in the present by necessity. Tomorrow always takes care of itself somehow. For all we know, I could die before you. The one thing I know for sure is that you had better never cheat on me, John Steed."

"I would never cheat on you, Emma. If I did, I'm sure you'd divorce me immediately."

"Divorce you? Darling, I would never let you off that lightly. I will kill you. And while we're being pragmatic, what are your plans about Edward? If he is your son?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. If Edward is mine, if at any time I am required due to circumstances, or at the request of Tara, I will fulfill my paternal responsibilities to my child; if that's a problem," Steed shrugged, "then that is, as you say, a deal breaker."

"No, that's the proper answer. Life is messy and complicated sometimes. I'm sure we'll cope. Why don't you let me soap your back?" Steed turned around to lie between Emma's legs with his head resting on her breasts.

"God, I do love you so, Emma."

"And I love you. But the water is getting cold. On the other hand, I'm warm, and you're warm, therefore, we're both alive. And that's all we need right now," Emma whispered in his ear. She pushed him forward and stood to step out. "Do you need a hand?"

"Actually, I could use two." He smiled sardonically. "Actually, that brings to mind what you asked me the first night we slept together."

"Ten years ago?"

"No. Two weeks ago. You asked me if being celibate meant that I hadn't even, well, I blush to say it."

"You blushing, I can't fathom it. Oh, but I was rather shocked when you said twice. I didn't understand you meant twice a day. Still too much of a good thing, is still a good thing."

"Yes. And Emma, about that hand..."

When Steed went downstairs the next morning the two younger agents had already fixed breakfast.

"So what uniform are you and Steed affecting?" Purdey looked up from her eggs.

"Well, according to Hennessy, hair shirts would be appropriate. Unfortunately, they're on back order at the ministry supply. Gambit and I will have to go mufti." Steed poured himself a black coffee and skipped the breakfast.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do all day while you and Gambit play soldier."

"Well, you could go back to HQ and see how the inter-department coordination efforts are progressing. You get on with MI5, you could make sure they share the ball and that everyone is playing well together."

"What about Emma?"

"She's still sleeping. I think she's exhausted Maybe you both need to go to HQ."

When Emma woke, Steed was gone. She reached her hand over to feel his side of the bed, but it was cold. He had apparently been gone for a while. She felt a momentary flash of irritation that he hadn't bothered to wake her, a feeling which was then quickly replaced by worry. She hurriedly grabbed his dressing gown and went downstairs hoping to catch him. Purdey was stacking the breakfast dishes when Emma came down.

"Ah, Emma. See, I'm still on KP. Steed and Gambit have gone to Glendronach. Steed suggested we both go to HQ see what's brewing."

Steed and Gambit arrived early at Glendronach and milled around with the rest of the recruits.

"Gambit, find out if the lorry drivers have their orders. We need to know exactly when and where the lorries are going to be placed for the London Strike. I'll see if I can have a chat with Hugh Hennessy."

While Gambit headed to the stables, Steed wandered over to the armory, "Look, who's the Stripey in charge? I want an immediate inventory of all munitions and weapons on hand. Including the nitrates, ammonium sulfate, and the JP-4," Steed slammed his hand down on the counter for emphasis.

Everyone snapped to attention. A short man with a mustache marched to the front counter, "Sgt. Dimple, reporting sir!"

"Well, get it done man! I'll be back in two hours for your report!"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Where's Hennessy?"

"He's in a meeting with Bell, and Walker."

"I need to reach him immediately. What's his location?"

"The Oxford and Cambridge Club."

When Steed called it was half past three, and Purdey and Emma had just finished their hasty briefing with Mother.

"Emma, I need you to go to the Oxford Cambridge Cub. You're a member there aren't you?"

"I'm a lady associate. I'm barred from the library and the main staircase. And I'll need a male escort to get in the member's bar."

"Sounds like a useless membership. I'm sure you and Purdey will have no trouble finding a couple of red- blooded males who will leap at the chance to escort two such charming specimens of English pulchritude. Bell, Walker and Hennessy are meeting there. The meeting may break up before you get there. If so, just talk to the staff, see if anyone overheard anything. "

Emma and Purdey took a taxi over to the club and spoke briefly to the manager. They loitered at the lobby before acquiring two young men who readily agreed to get them in the bar. They ordered G&T's and engaged the handsome bartender in a little harmless flirtation. They positioned themselves to observe the coming and goings of the members in the reflection of the ornate mirror located over the bar. After two rounds, their patience was rewarded by the sight of tall Hugh Hennessy, flanked by the squat Llewellyn Bell, and Jack Walker as they came down the main staircase. The three men stopped in the lobby and appeared to have a spirited discussion. Hennessy then exited the club, but Bell and Walker entered and took a small table at rear the bar. Both men were now in the direct line of sight of Emma and Purdey.

"What do you know about those two men?" Purdey asked of Harry the bartender.

"Oh, those two? They're regulars here. Neither gentleman is particularly pleasant. I've heard they have some alarming views on international politics. They always seem to start a row with the other members. Not to mention they're very bad tippers."

Emma smiled over at the two men who looked blankly back at her. Nonplussed, she continued to smile at them before turning away coquettishly. "Purdey, show them your teeth," Emma said in an aside. "Let's see if we can get them to invite us over."

Eventually, after much encouragement, Bell and Walker made their way over and introduced themselves. Emma and Purdey's original escorts looked miffed and made their excuses to leave when it became apparent that, for some inexplicable reason, the ladies seem to prefer the company of the two older men. Purdey and Emma entered into their third round of drinks, and were soon agreeing with all sorts of preposterous assertions and notions as expounded on by the two bellicose men. Yes, of course England had become a socialist nation, the only hope was to clamp down on immigration. And as for the energy crisis, why the most powerful nations in the world allowed themselves to be held hostage to backwards, oil rich emirates, was stark lunacy. What Great Britain needed, was strict spiritual guidance along with an almost dictatorship rule. Everyone had gotten entirely too soft and complacent after the war, and if the politicians were going to fleece the rich in order support the undeserving poor, than perhaps what was needed was a complete upheaval of politics and a new world order."

"I was stationed at Leningrad, near the end of the war when I first became acquainted with the concept of seed banking. Hitler blockaded Leningrad in 1941, and the scientists at the V.I. Vavilov Research Institute of Plant Industry, starved to death rather than eat the precious seeds they had so painstakingly cataloged and banked. Now, here was a valuable commodity; a commodity worth dying for. It occurred to me, that if the rest of the world's seed were to become blighted, then one would have an absolute monopoly. Here was the future of agribusiness in its infancy. The financial ramifications were unlimited. A man just had to be bold enough to see and seize the future. With the rest of the world dependent of England for seed, we could re-establish England as a world power. Those oil rich countries would pay nearly for their food. But even more important than this, would be the ability to control access to potable water. Water is the very essence of life. Without it, everything would wither to dust." Llewellyn Bell finished his whisky and slammed down his glass on the table. His blue eyes glittered with avarice and madness.

"You ladies might want to think of investing with our parent corporation ASTA. Better yet, maybe you would be interested in joining our Doomsday Group? Our group could benefit from the addition of two such beautiful and intelligent ladies," Walker said thoughtfully.

After the fourth round of drinks, Emma and Purdey allowed themselves to be nominated for membership and agreed to a meeting the following night at the Glendronach Estate. The four of them then sealed the motion with a toast to ASTA and England.

After much debate, Emma and Purdey firmly declined the offer of a ride from Walker and Bell. When the two gentlemen had left the premises, the barman called a cab and the two ladies staggered out into the night.

Gambit and Steed, who had been patiently waiting for the two women for the last hour, got out of the Range Rover and met them just as they were unsteadily preparing to enter the cab.

Gambit took Purdey by the elbow, "My God, you're both pickled!"

Steed who offered similar support to Emma, looked at both women incredulously. "I was going to suggest dinner, but perhaps a bicarbonate of soda would be more appropriate?"

"We're not sloshed. A little squiffy perhaps, but not sloshed," Emma enunciated each word carefully. "Oh, Steed, I'm so glad to see you!" She threw her arms around Steed.

And I'm glad to see you as well, my dear." Steed said in a bemused tone. "Why don't Gambit and I

take you two ladies home to sleep it off? You're both going to have terrible hangovers tomorrow."

"Yes," Purdey said with an attempt at dignity, "but we managed to chat with Walker and Bell, and we have been approved for membership with the Doomsday Group. We've been invited to a meeting tomorrow night."

Gambit whistled low. "That's very impressive, indeed."

"I can only hope that the other two fellows look much worse for wear." Steed shook his head sympathetically. Purdey and Gambit would have to collect more clothes since the four of them decided for the sake of expediency to stay together at Steed's country house.

About the time they reached Purdey's basement flat, both women had decided they were starving. The nearest restaurant was an Italian bistro conveniently located around the corner from Purdey's flat.

Gambit dropped the three at the front door and looked on amused as Steed struggled to get the two tipsy women to navigate down the narrow outside steps to the bistro. Just when Gambit thought he would have to intervene, Steed firmly grasped each around the waist with either arm and steadied both ladies through the door. They cut quite a swath through the little restaurant, the tall handsome gentleman, and the two, beautiful, very intoxicated ladies. No one in the party noticed the stares of their fellow diners as they walked to their table because Purdey and Emma were both oblivious, and because Steed was too embarrassed to look up. The waiter came over to take their orders and Steed immediately cancelled the drink request that Emma had made. "The ladies will have mineral water." Emma objected and began to order in fluent Italian. Steed swore under his breath. His Italian was rusty at best and he hated making a scene. If they wanted more wine, let it be on their heads. He wasn't going to argue, they were already tipsy, and apparently they were determined to be plastered. They were both adults. He only hoped Gambit would be back quickly from parking the car. He honestly didn't think he could handle both inebriated ladies.

When Gambit arrived to the table, both ladies excused themselves for the loo. "I can't believe you let those two order wine!"

"I couldn't stop them," Steed took the remaining wine and filled Gambit's glass to the top. "Let's see if _you_ can prevent them from ordering more drinks. Emma's fluent in Italian. Good luck!"

The waiter returned with their orders. One of the advantages of being a regular patron was prompt service and the fact that and Steed had known exactly what to order for Gambit, which was lasagna. It was always lasagna. Emma ordered the porto bello ravioli, and insisted on feeding bits to Steed. "Yes, dear, it's delicious, but I have my own dinner," Steed protested in vain. Emma then insisted on kissing him in front of God and the rest of the diners. She then announced to no one in particular, "Purdey, we have the two must attractive men in the entire restaurant. God, they're tall, dark and handsome. Have you ever noticed that they both have the sexiest cleft chins? Not to mention their wavy hair. God, they're both so sexy."

Steed looked at Emma apprehensively.

Emma then turned to Steed, "You never show me any affection in public. You've never even so much as held my hand. I'd almost think that you're ashamed of me John Steed."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. You know we never wanted anyone to know we were a couple. It was part of the subterfuge."

She then kissed Steed again and he kissed her back passionately. He broke it off and looked in her eyes with an amused smile. "Anymore, and we're going to need to get a room. I think we've

sufficiently scandalized the other patrons. Please keep your hands above the table, darling. My poor heart couldn't take any more excitement tonight."

Purdey was thinking about what Mrs. Peel had said about Gambit's cleft chin and curly hair. She was right, both Steed and Gambit were incredibly sexy men. Steed was taken, but she couldn't remember exactly why it was she was holding Mike Gambit at arm's length.

"Alright," Emma smiled and dropped her hands from the grasp she had of the back of Steed's neck.

"But only if you promise to snog me all the way back to Wiltshire."

"I promise, but only if Gambit drives."

When the ladies once again trooped to the loo, Steed grabbed Gambit and hissed, "Mike, I'm going to have to ask you to take one for the team. I want you to monopolize the wine. I'll water theirs down," Steed poured the carafe of water into the wine glasses and topped it off with a little wine.

"I thought I was driving back to Wiltshire!"

"No. I'm driving," Steed said firmly.

"But you're supposed to snog Mrs. Peel..."

"Absolutely not, Emma has four stages to inebriation, tipsy, and then sloshed. She's sloshed."

"But you said there were four stages?"

"Sloshed has three stages, first she gets, well, tactile. The second stage is the 'do me in the taxi mode' the last stage is where I'll have to physically carry her out. I think we're cycling through rather rapidly. We may have already crossed the Rubicon. They must have been drinking on an empty stomach. That's why you're driving. Emma is typically very reserved in public, but she has a definite wild streak. I don't want her swan diving into the Thames. G&T's are a lethal cocktail for her. Remind me sometime to tell you the Tequila Tales."

"God, you're a lucky man. Maybe you would like me to sit in the back with her?"

"Just do what I asked of you, Mike," Steed said wearily. "How does Purdey function sloshed?"

"I wish I knew, Steed."

"Well, you're not going to find out tonight. She's beyond the legal limit."

"Yes, of course. But what if they are your regular girlfriend, or perhaps, say your fiancé?

"That's a very good question."

The rest of the evening passed relatively, uneventfully and the agents soon collected their things and were driving back to Wiltshire. Somehow, Emma managed to stretch out in the front seat and had her head on Steed's thigh. It looked devilishly uncomfortable, but she was almost boneless now. The moon shone over the English country side and the wind blew briskly enough to rush the clouds across the moon, but not briskly enough to make it too chilly. Steed rolled the windows down a bit and they enjoyed the fragrant smell of the newly turned earth in the fields.

When they arrived at the estate, Steed went around to the passenger side door and scooped Emma in his arms. She whispered in his ear and he replied, "That's an interesting suggestion, we'll have to try that sometime when we're both sober." He turned to Gambit and Purdey, "Goodnight. See you both in the morning. Not too early." He then turned and carried Emma up the stairs like it was an everyday occurrence.

Maybe it was the drink, or perhaps it was just a romantic spring evening, but for some unknown reason, Purdey grabbed Gambit and gave him a quick kiss before heading up the stairs. Mike stood there stunned for a good five minutes, before shrugging his shoulders and going up to bed.

The next day Steed talked Gambit into going out to the paddock with him to learn to play polo. "It's a very physical game. It takes strength and quick reflexes; I think that it would suit you. We wear the same size shoe. I've got an old pair of boots you can have. Wear your jeans and I'll get you a helmet."

"I don't know I prefer boxing."

"But Gambit, people hit you in the face boxing. Sometimes repeatedly," Steed made a slight grimace. "Look you can come out here and practice with me anytime. You might even want to get on a team. I'll help you."

"I don't know, Steed. It seems too gentrified to me."

"Gambit, I think it would further your career. You make too much of this class thing. It's the man that matters, not your lineage." They managed a couple of chukkas before going back to the house for a late lunch.

"Don't mention anything to Emma about last night; she will have forgotten the more colorful incidents."

"Blackouts?"

"Discretion."

Purdey and Emma were nursing their hangover with black coffee and lots of orange juice.

Gambit and Purdey adjourned to the solarium to play scrabble. Emma and Steed lounged in the library where it was dark and cool.

"I see you went riding with Gambit this morning?

"Yes, I think he would make a good polo player."

"You're playing Pygmalion."

"I'm not playing at anything."

"You're match-making."

"What's wrong with that, Gambit needs a bit of smoothing out. Purdey will be perfect for him. They're very fond of one another."

"Gambit is fine the way he is."

"Yes, I seem to remember that you announced how attractive he was last night," Steed who was stretched out on the sofa beside her lifted his head to look at her blandly.

"I'm sure I said no such thing." But all the same two vertical frown lines appeared between her eyes.

"Emma, pass me that book by your head. I always hate waiting for meetings. It keys me up."

"Purdey and I are having the meeting."

"That's even worse. I'll be left pacing the floor."

Purdey and Emma left for their meeting at 730pm. Gambit and Steed played snooker and tried to put their worry out of their minds. By 11pm, they could no longer pretend that everything was fine. Steed threw his billiard stick on the table. "Alright, then. That's it."

Gambit put on his jacket and retrieved his gun. Steed took his out of his desk drawer.

"How much ammo do you have, Steed?"

"Two clips."

"I can't think why you haven't gone to a more modern pistol with a bigger clip."

"This is all I've ever needed."

Steed gained entry to the grounds and went straight to the library where Hennessey, Bell, Walker and Dewar were burning the midnight oil making their final plans. He entered through the terrace doors having slipped the simple locks with his plastic ministry pass. He covered them all with his Walther and sat down in the leather wing chair opposite Hugh Hennessy. He pulled a cigar from his inside coat pocket and lit it with a lighter from the desk, "I hope you don't mind if I smoke?"

"Who are you?" Jack Walker shouted.

"Just a quiet professional," Steed laughed at his own joke.

"I know you," Llewellyn Bell finally spoke. He had been staring intently at Steed and a certain dawning recognition lit his features. "You're John Steed. I remember you from Leningrad. You haven't changed that much since 1944."

"No, I don't suppose that either of us has really changed all that much. You're still as unpleasant now as you were then. But this isn't really a social call. The reason for my visit is that you're holding something that I want back, namely, Emma and Purdey, the two young ladies that came here earlier tonight. I was expecting them back hours ago."

Hugh spoke first, "I'm not sure which ladies you're referring to."

"Well, let me refresh your memory, they're both quite beautiful, one tall with long auburn hair, the other tall with blonde bobbed hair. They're not really the type to go unnoticed. Or unmissed," Steed said pointedly. "And as for this other thing that you four have cooked up, I'm afraid that we can't really have you terrorizing the populace and randomly blowing up things. Your men have already been intercepted with the explosives."

At this moment Gambit kicked down the interior library door. He had his gun out and in the ready position.

"Where are Purdey and Emma?"

"By the time you find them, it will be too late."

Gambit fired a warning shot that whizzed by Jack Walker's left ear. "My next shot will be a little more to the right."

"You can't…" Jack Walker didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Gambit fired one perfect round to his forehead and he slumped backwards. "I'm not really in the mood for you to tell me what I can, and can't do. Who's next, gentlemen?"

"I think you need to tell Gambit what he wants to know. He's very impetuous."

"If you kill us all, you'll never find out where the two ladies are."

"Yes, but we only need one of you alive. The other four, well three now, are expendable," Steed said in a reasonable tone.

Llewellyn Bell reached for the telephone and called down to the armory, "Sgt. Dimple, please bring the two young ladies to the library. We're not going to need you to hold them after all." He hung up the phone and looked over at Steed. "There, happy now?"

"Not really," Steed said concentrating on his cigar. It took twenty minutes for the women to be escorted to the library.

"Gambit, Steed! I was wondering if you two were going to make it. I kept expecting the big bang!" Purdey looked between her two partners with a wide grin.

"Of course, we made it in time. When have we ever let you down?"

Emma walked over to Steed, "I had complete faith in you, darling."

"Thank you, Mrs. Peel," Steed murmured. "Gambit, I need you to take the ladies to safety. I lied when I said that your men were intercepted. They managed to get by MI5. I'm going to need you to show me every location where you planted the explosives. Time is of the essence. " Steed pulled out a city map of London and spread it on the desk.

"I have no intention of telling you that."

"I was afraid you were going to play it like this. Gambit, it's time for you to leave."

"We're not going to leave you," Emma said looking for support from Purdey and Gambit.

Steed's eyes never left Gambit's. "I need all three of you to leave now. I want you to secure the door from the outside."

Gambit nodded once hard. Purdey and Gambit took Mrs. Peel by either arm and she looked as if she were going to object strenuously. "We'll secure the perimeter."

"Don't make a scene, Emma." Steed said gently.

When the door had closed, Steed smoked for a few minutes more, and then pulled three sticks of dynamite out of his side pocket and casually lit the single fuse with his cigar.

"I believe this is what is called a Mexican Standoff."

All three of the men looked at the burning fuse with horrified fascination.

"You're going to blow yourself up," Hugh Hennessy said incredulously.

"Yes, and you too if it comes to that. I can be as unreasonable as the next fellow. Ask Mrs. Peel.

I'm ready to meet my maker. Are you, Hugh? You know the speech you made the other day about having a cause to die for; I was wondering how much of that was hyperbole?"

"He's bluffing. He doesn't want to die. You have a beautiful woman who is obviously very fond of you," Llewelyn Bell spoke smoothly.

"That's true. But the sad fact is that if I allow you to kill all those people in London, it's going to cast a pall over our relationship. She'll never be able to fully forgive me. Eventually, I'm afraid she'll think less of me. I can assure you, I'm fully committed. Why do you think I sent my colleagues to safety?"

"For God's sake man!"

"Interesting choice of words. The fuse is getting short," Steed examined it regretfully.

"Alright, alright." Hugh grabbed the map and began furiously circling landmarks on the map. "The Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's Cathedral, Covent Garden…"

"Is this all of them?"

"Yes! Yes!" The veins were popping out on Hugh's neck.

"What, no Parliament? Not a really a surprise among them," Steed rose to collect the map.

"The fuse." Llewellyn croaked.

"Yes, the fuse. Here. You take it." Steed thrust it at the three men. They shrank back away from the terrace doors panicked. Steed looked at the fuse askance, "it really _is_ getting short." He tossed his cigar and the dynamite at the three and bolted through the doors running for his life. The blast caught him and propelled him ass over teacups. He came to in the bushes by the fountain, and gingerly examined himself. Everything seemed intact. Emma ran up to him pursued in short order by Gambit and Purdey.

"Are you all right?" Emma knelt by his side.

"I'm fine. What happened to Gambit's nose?"

Gambit's reply was muffled by the handkerchief he was using to try to staunch the flow of blood.

"I'm not sure my hearings not been affected, I can't understand what you're saying."

Gambit took the cloth away from his nose and mouth, "Mrs. Peel broke my nose."

Steed looked at Emma shocked.

"I'll explain it later. Did you get the locations?"

"Yes."

Purdey looked at the collapsing building, "We're going to have to call out the fire brigade. Do you think they're all dead?"

"I'm fairly certain."

break

"All I'm asking is, was it necessary to blow them all up? Along with the house? It was one of the finest examples of Elizabethan architecture in Britain." Mother puffed his cigar indignantly.

"Yes, it was a shame about the house," Steed murmured sympathetically. "But by and large, I think everything ended rather well. Catastrophe was averted, and the British public was none the wiser to their eminent danger. Did I mention that I was resigning? I'm getting married. And after all, all's well that ends well."

"Ends well? As usual you burnt the whole thing down to ashes." Mother examined the tip of his cigar. "And married? That's ludicrous. To whom?

"Mrs. Peel."

"That makes a modicum of sense. Your resignation is rejected." Mother drew a heavily embossed letter out of his inner breast pocket. "My resignation went through last week. I'm afraid it's a case of tag you're it." Mother thrust the orders at Steed. "I think you'll find everyone has signed off at the appropriate level."

fini


End file.
